LITTLE  CLASSICS 

WITH  INITIATIVE  STEPS  IN 

VOCAL    TRAINING 

FOR 

ORAL   ENGLISH 


S.  S.  CURRY,  Ph.D.,  Litt.D. 

Author  of  "Foundations  of  Expression,"  "Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  "Mind 

and  Voice,"  "Imagination  and  Dramatic  Instinct,"  "Browning  and  the 

Dramatic  Monologue,"  "Province  of  Expression,"  "Vocal  and 

Literary  Interpretation  of  the  Bible,"  "Classics  for  Vocal 

Expression,"  etc.,  and  President  of  the 

School  of  Expression 


BOSTON 

EXPRESSION     COMPANY 

308  PIERCE  BLDG.,  COPLEY  SQUARE 


Copyright  by 

S.   S.   CURRY 

1912 


Stanbopc  flireas 

F.    H.GILSON   COMPANY 
BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


TO  THOSE  WHO  USE  THIS  BOOK: 

The  sweetest  song  was  ever  sung 

May  soothe  you  but  a  little  while: 
The  gayest  music  ever  rung 

Shall  yield  you  but  a  fleeting  smile. 

The  well  I  digged  you  soon  shall  pass: 
You  may  but  rest  with  me  an  hour: 

Yet  drink,  I  offer  you  the  glass, 
A  moment  of  sustaining  power. 

And  give  to  you,  if  it  be  gain, 

Whether  in  pleasure  or  annoy, 
To  see  one  elemental  pain, 

One  light  of  everlasting  joy. 

A.  B. 

The  aim  of  this  book  is  to  present  a  method  of  de- 
veloping the  voice  in  reading  and  speaking  which  will 
avoid  imitation  or  artificial  and  mechanical  modes  of 
teaching.  The  underlying  principle  is  that  thinking  and 
feeling  cause  voice  modulation;  that  expression  is  an 
outward  manifestation  of  mental  activity;  and  that 
there  are  three  ways  in  which  expression  can  be  im- 
proved: first,  by  stimulating  the  cause;  second,  by 
making  the  voice  and  the  body  more  normal  and  re- 
sponsive; third,  by  understanding  the  elements  of  vocal 
expression  or  the  right  voice  modulation. 

One  peculiarity  of  this  book  is  the  presentation  of 
questions  which  are  to  be  answered  by  rendering  ex- 
tracts, printed  with  the  questions  or  problems.  Methods 
of  studying  and  of  teaching  are  treated  in  foot-notes. 

Some  may  think  the  book  impractical.  The  method, 
however,  has  been  tried  and  the  results  have  been  as- 
tonishing. Treating  impression  and  expression  as  co- 
ordinate reveals  not  only  imperfections  of  expression, 
but  inadequate  or  wrong  modes  of  thinking.  Others 
may  regard  it  as  too  difficult.  Practice  will  show  that 
it  is  simple  and  even  easy,  if  patient,  persevering  atten- 
tion and  work  be  given  the  successive  steps. 

The  method  employed  is  so  different  from  all  others 
that  great  care  should  be  exercised,  especially  at  first. 

2091838 


4  TO    THOSE     WHO    USE    THIS    BOOK 

The  teacher  must  guide;  nothing  can  be  given  as  mere 
intellectual  information.  "  To  know  a  thing  we  must 
do  it."  If  the  answers  be  given  intellectually  as  mere 
explanations  they  will  mean  little.  Instinct  must  be 
awakened,  the  conscious  connection  between  thinking 
and  the  natural  modulations  of  the  voice  and  body 
must  be  realized.  This  will  develop  naturalness,  sim- 
plicity and  power.  Each  student  will  be  developed  ac- 
cording to  his  own  peculiar  nature.  His  thinking  and 
feeling  will  also  be  improved. 

The  problem  of  improving  the  voice  and  expression 
is  not  an  easy  one.  The  spontaneous  energies  of  being 
must  be  awakened,  or  the  results  will  be  superficial. 
Imitation  or  mechanical  rules  have  been  proven  super- 
ficial; they  do  not  awaken  instinct. 

The  book  is  founded  upon  the  principle  advocated 
by  the  best  psychologists,  that  vocal  training  should 
precede  language  training;  that  speaking  should  pre- 
cede writing.  If  the  student  can  be  made  to  realize  his 
thinking  in  the  natural  modulations  of  his  voice  he  will 
receive  inspiration  to  express  himself  in  simple  writing. 

No  words  can  express  the  thanks  due  to  the  many 
authors  who  have  allowed  the  use  of  selections  from 
their  copyright  works:  to  Mr.  John  T.  Trowbridge, 
whose  good  counsel  has  been  extended  to  me  for  thirty- 
five  years;  to  Mr.  Clinton  Scollard,  Mr.  Nixon  Water- 
man, Mr.  Wm.  J.  Long,  Mr.  Charles  Keeler,  Mr.  Hamlin 
Garland,  the  publishers  of  the  books  of  Mr.  Sam  Walter 
Foss,  and  to  many  others. 

A  Home  Study  Course  for  teachers  using  any  of  my 
books  in  teaching  has  been  arranged.  This  Course  will 
endeavor  to  make  suggestions  as  to  methods.  Address, 
stating  name  of  school  and  the  book  used. 

S.  S.  CURRY. 

School  of  Expression,  Copley  Square,  Boston. 
Offices,  301-320  Pierce  Bldg. 


CONTENTS 


INITIATIVE  STEPS 

Page 

I.  HOW  WE  RECEIVE  IMPRESSIONS 7 

I.   Thinking  in  Talking  and  Reading 7 

II.   Attention  and  Mental  Pictures 9 

III.  Observation  and  Impression 11 

IV.  Observation  and  Feeling 13 

V.   Training  the  Mind  to  Use  the  Eye  and  Ear      .    .  14 

VI.   Living  Our  Ideas 18 

II.  IMPRESSIONS  AND  HOW  CONDITIONS  RESPOND 

TO  THEM      20 

VII.   Impression  and  the  Body 20 

VIII.   How  Impressions  Cause  Voice 22 

IX.   Ease  and  Freedom  of  Tone 25 

X.   Tone  and  Speech 27 

XI.   Laughter  and  Voice 29 

XII.    Impression  and  Strength  of  Voice 31 

XIII.  Conditions  for  Tone 35 

III.  HOW  WE  GIVE  INDIVIDUAL  IMPRESSIONS      .    .  38 

XIV.  Attention  and  Pause      38 

XV.   Silent  Reading  and  Reading  Aloud 41 

XVI.   Words  and  the  Eye 44 

XVII.    Mental  Images  and  Phrases 45 

XVIII.   Phrase  Accent 47 

XIX.    Change  of  Ideas  and  of  Pitch 51 

XX.    Individualizing  Ideas,  and  Voice  Modulations      .  53 

IV.  HOW  IMPRESSIONS  SHOW  THEIR  CONNECTION  55 

XXI.   Direction  of  Attention  and  Inflexion 55 

XXII.   Strong  Ideas  and  Long  Inflexions 59 

XXIII.  Thinking  in  Change  of  Pitch  and  Inflexion    ...  63 

XXIV.  Relative  Value  of  Ideas  and  Words 67 

XXV.    How  to  Train  the  Voice  to  Make  Changes    ...  71 

XXVI.    Sequence  of  Ideas  and  Modulations 78 

5 


CONTENTS 


V.   IMPRESSIONS  THAT  COME  OF  THEMSELVES 


Page 
82 


XXVII.   Deliberative    and    Spontaneous    Actions    of   the 

Mind 82 

XXVIII.   Dramatic  Insight 89 

XXIX.    Imagination  and  Tone  Color 97 

XXX.   Mellowness  of  Tone 100 

XXXI.   Language  of  Thinking  and  Feeling 105 

VI.  EXPERIENCE  AND  EXPRESSION 109 

XXXII.   Sympathetic  Observation      109 

XXXIII.  Sympathetic  Identification Ill 

XXXIV.  Assimilation  not  Imitation 119 

XXXV.   Extreme  Changes  in  Experiences     ....'...  123 

XXXVI.   Modulations  Caused  by  Experience 126 

XXXVII.   Sympathetic  Responsiveness  of  Tone 132 

XXXVIII.   Union  of  Mental  Actions  and  Voice  Modulations   .  135 

VII.  APPLICATIONS 140 

XXXIX.   The  Awakening  of  Poetic  Instinct 140 

XL.   Poetry  and  Its  Forms 144 

LITTLE  CLASSICS 

Illustrative  Selections 151 

Alphabetical  Index  of  Authors  and  Selections 381 


INITIATIVE   STEPS 

I 

HOW  WE  RECEIVE   IMPRESSIONS 

I.   THINKING   IN   TALKING  AND   READING 

My  window  is  the  open  sky, 
The  flower  in  farthest  wood  is  mine; 
I  am  the  heir  to  all  gone  by, 
The  eldest  son  of  all  the  line. 
From  "  Immortality."  Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy. 

1.  If  you  first  read  a  short  passage  in  the  ordinary 
way,  and  then  talk  about  it  or  express  its  meaning  in 
your  own  words,  what  are  some  of  the  differences  that 
you  note  between  the  way  you  read  and  the  way  you 
talk?  What  causes  these  differences? 

Robins  in  the  tree  top; 

Blossoms  in  the  grass; 
Green  things  a-growing, 

Everywhere  you  pass; 
Sudden  little  breezes;  >f 

Showers  of  silver  dew; 
Black  bough  and  bent  twig 

Budding  out  anew. 
From  "  Marjorie's  Almanac."  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 

To  Teachers:  All  the  headings,  except  the  numbering  of  the  problems,  cor- 
respond with  the  companion  volume  of  "  Oral  English."  The  two  books  are  in- 
tended to  go  together  —  the  other  to  furnish  discussions  and  explanations; 
and  this  book  to  furnish  additional  selections  and  pointed  questions  for  in- 
ductive self-observation  in  interpretation. 

Some  teachers  prefer  books  with  only  selections;  others  prefer  books  with 
full  discussions;  still  others  like  both  books  to  complement  each  other. 

These  two  volumes  will  serve  all  three  classes.  Some  teachers  will  have 
only  this  book  in  the  students'  hands,  and  will  have  "  Oral  English  "  for  reference. 
Others  will  use  the  "  Oral  English  "  in  class,  and  in  it  will  find  a  sufficient  number 
of  selections  for  a  good  course;  still  others  will  give  students  both  books  — 
one  for  better  explanation  of  principles  and  the  other  for  more  independent 
self-study. 

Footnotes  and  references  to  the  author's  other  books  will  enable  teachers 
or  students  to  make  still  further  investigations  into  the  more  important  sub- 
jects. As  there  is  a  correspondence  in  topics  and  numbers,  references  to 
"  Oral  English  "  are  omitted. 


8  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

2.  What  differences  did  the  little  brother  feel  be- 
tween his  sister's  reading  and  her  story-telling  or  talk- 
ing? 

finest  stories  in  the  world 
May  tells  to  us  at  night. 
Giants  and  dwarfs  jump  all  around 

When  we  put  out  the  light. 
But  once  I  crept  close  to  her  school, 

And  peeped  right  through  the  door; 
I  heard  May  reading  from  a  book  — 

She  never  talked  like  that  before, 
"  I-  have-  a-  dog,"  she  slowly  said, 

"  My-  dog-  can-  jump-  and-  run," 
She  drawled  and  dragged  word  after  word, 
As  if  she  did  not  like  the  fun. 

THE  PROCESSION   OF  THE  FLOWERS 

Then  came  the  daisies, 

On  the  first  of  May, 

Like  a  banner'd  show's  advance 

While  the  crowd  runs  by  the  way, 

With  ten  thousand  flowers  about  them 

They  came  trooping  through  the  fields. 

As  a  happy  people  come, 

So  came  they, 
As  the  happy  people  come 
When  the  war  has  roll'd  away, 
With  dance  and  tabor,  pipe  and  drum, 
And  all  make  holiday. 

Then  came  the  cowslip, 

Like  a  dancer  in  the  fair, 

She  spread  her  little  mat  of  green. 

There  danced  she, 
With  a  fillet  bound  about  her  brow, 
A  fillet  round  her  happy  brow, 
A  golden  fillet  round  her  brow, 
And  rubies  in  her  hair. 

Sydney  Dobell. 

In  the  very  beginning  the  pupil,  no  matter  how  young,  must  in  some  way 
be  brought  to  realize  that  all  talking,  reading  or  speaking  is  the  effect  of  think- 
ing. In  talking  we  think;  in  reading  we  are  apt  merely  to  call  words.  See 
"  Lessons  in  VocaljExpression,"  pp.  1-17;  "Foundations  of  Expression, "pp.  9-12. 
The  references  to  other  books  will  enable  the  teacher  to  add  questions,  or  to 
change  the  problems  according  to  the  needs  of  different  classes.  The  ques- 
tions, it  can  be  seen  at  once,  are  meant  for  nature-study,  and  self-observation. 
The  faithful  teacher  will,  of  course,  recognize  just  how  much  guidance  the 
pupil  needs  —  the  less  the  better. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  9 

II.   ATTENTION  AND   MENTAL  PICTURES 

The  linnet  is  singing  the  wild  wood  through; 
The  fawn's  bounding  footsteps  skim  over  the  dew, 
The  butterfly  flits  round  the  blossoming  tree, 
And  the  cowslip  and  blue-bell  are  bent  by  the  bee; 
All  the  creatures  that  dwell  in  the  forest  are  gay, 
And  why  should  not  I  be  as  merry  as  they? 

Mary  Russell  Mitford. 

3.  When  you  speak  these  lines  naturally,  what  do 
you  find  your  mind  doing? 

See  the  man  that  long  has  tossed 

On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain 
At  length  repair  his  vigor  lost, 

And  breathe  and  walk  again; 
The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale, 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  Paradise. 
From  "  Ode  to  Vicissitude."  Thomas  Gray. 

4.  As  you  tell  about  some  interesting  event,  what  do 
you  catch  your  mind  doing? 

m  APRIL 

The  poplar  drops  beside  the  way 
Its  tasselled  plumes  of  silver-gray; 
The  chestnut  pouts  its  great  brown  buds 
Impatient  for  the  laggard  May. 

The  honeysuckles  lace  the  wall, 
The  hyacinths  grow  fair  and  tall; 
And  mellow  sun  and  pleasant  wind 
And  odorous  bees  are  over  all. 

Elizabeth  Akers. 

The  pictorial  action  of  the  mind,  the  sustaining  of  the  pictures  in  the  mind 
while  one  is  speaking,  should  be  realized  early.  See  "Lessons  in  Vocal  Expres- 
sion," pp.  26-34.  Do  not  dominate  the  child  or  expect  specific  pictures.  Each 
child,  if  he  thinks  carefully  and  gives  up  to  his  own  thinking,  will  have  more  or 
less  unique  action.  See  "  Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  35-44. 

The  actions  of  the  mind  in  thinking  must  govern  expression.  These  ac- 
tions are  concentration  of  the  mind  at  one  point,  and  leaping  to  another  in  a 
series  of  successive  pulsations.  See  "Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  18-24; 
"  Foundations  of  Expression,"  pp.  19-23.  There  are  other  things,  of  course, 
which  the  mind  is  doing  and  the  teacher  may  possibly  bring  out  some  of  these 
—  such  as  making  pictures.  Spontaneous  mental  activities  should  never  be 
repressed.  Wrong  mental  actions  may  also  be  discovered  —  skipping  about, 
for  instance,  or  thinking  of  other  things. 


10  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

5.  Tell  a  story,  letting  your  mind  receive  the  ideas 
as  it  chooses.     Let  it  do  likewise  in  reading  or  reciting. 
Does  the  action  of  your  mind  seem  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  the  changes  in  your  voice? 

SPRING  SONG 

Spring  comes  hither,  White  light  pours, 
Buds  the  rose;  Flies  away. 

Roses  wither,  Soft  winds  blow, 
Sweet  spring  goes.  Westward  borne; 

Summer  soars,  —  Onward  go, 

Wide- winged  day;  Toward  the  morn. 

George  Eliot. 

6.  If  you  increase  or  prolong  your  attention  at  any 
point  or  upon  any  idea,  what  comes  to  your  mind? 
What  are  some  of  the  effects  of  such  mental  pictures 
upon  your  reading  and  talking? 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I: 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie; 

There  I  couch,  when  owls  do  cry: 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer  merrily. 

Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough! 

William  Shakespeare. 

7.  As  you  talk  or  read  aloud  can  you  see,  or  hear,  or 
feel  successive  ideas  in  your  mind?     Let  your  mind  live 
ideas  one  at  a  time  before  and  as  you  give  them. 

WHITE  CLOVER 

The  distant  hills,  the  long  day  thro', 
Have  fainted  in  a  haze  of  blue, 
The  sun  has  been  a  burning  fire, 
The  day  has  been  a  warm  desire  — 

But  all  desire  is  over; 
The  lights  are  fading  from  the  west, 
The  night  has  brought  a  dreamy  rest, 
And  deep  in  yonder  wood  is  heard 
The  sudden  singing  of  a  bird  — 
While  here  an  evening  wind  has  stirred 

A  slope  set  thick  with  clover. 

Lessons  or  exercises  in  conversation  should  be  given  from  the  first.  This 
will  make  students  more  natural  and  simple,  and  help  to  awaken  thinking  in 
their  reading. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  11 

The  fields  have  lost  their  lingering  light, 
The  path  is  dusky  thro"  the  night  — 
The  clover  is  too  sweet  to  lose 
Her  fragrance  with  the  gathering  dews  — 

The  skies  are  warm  above  her; 
The  cricket  pipes  his  song  again, 
The  cows  are  waiting  in  the  lane, 
The  shadows  fall  adown  the  hill, 
And  silent  is  the  whippoorwill; 
But  thro'  the  summer  twilight  still 

You  smell  the  milk-white  clover. 

The  glory  of  the  day  has  ceased, 
The  moon  has  risen  in  the  east, 
The  distant  hills,  the  meadows  near, 
Are  bathed  in  moonlight  soft  and  clear, 

That  veils  the  landscape  over; 
And  born  of  rare  and  strange  perfume, 
Pure  as  the  clover's  odorous  bloom, 
Dear  hopes,  that  are  but  half  confessed, 
Dim  thoughts  and  longings  fill  the  breast, 
Till  lost  again  in  deeper  rest 

Among  the  blossomed  clover. 

Dora  Read  Goodale. 

III.   OBSERVATION  AND   IMPRESSION 

Oh,  for  boyhood's  painless  play; 

Sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day; 

Health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules; 

Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools,  .  .  . 

How  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell; 

How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell, 

And  the  ground-mole  sinks  his  well; 

How  the  robin  feeds  her  young; 

How  the  oriole's  nest  is  hung; 

Where  the  whitest  lilies  blow; 

Where  the  freshest  berries  grow; 

Where  the  ground-nut  trails  its  vine; 

Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine;  .  .  . 

Nature  answers  all  he  asks; 

Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks 

Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks, 

Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy,  — 

Blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy! 
From  "  The  Barefoot  Boy."  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

It  is  not  wise  to  give  too  much  attention  to  the  peculiarities  of  the  indi- 
vidual pupils,  but  sometimes  the  teacher  may  experiment,  giving  the  word 
"  rose  "  and  asking  what  color  each  one  saw;  "  oriole  "  and  asking  whether  the 
mind  saw  it  or  heard  its  song;  and  so  with  other  words,  "  brook,"  "  pine  tree." 
Observe  any  children  whose  apperceptions  do  not  quickly  respond.  Sec  "  Les- 


12  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

8.  Does  your  mind  form  pictures  of  the  scenes, 
animals,  and  objects  of  the  preceding  lines?  Receive, 
live,  and  give  one  thing  at  a  time  with  a  boy's  enjoy- 
ment. Which  of  the  things  mentioned  do  you  see  in 
your  mind  most  quickly  and  easily,  and  why? 

CALLING  THE  FLOWERS 

Sweet  Lady  Pea,  fly  hither  to  me; 
Light  and  white  are  your  wings,  I  see. 

Golden  Rod,  touch  me,  I  pray  you,  over 
The  thousand  heads  of  the  low  sweet  clover. 

Snap-dragon,  quick!     There's  a  bee  in  your  bonnet. 
Pinch  him  and  send  him  off  thinking  upon  it. 

Lily-bell,  whisper  and  tell  me  true 

What  was  the  humming  bird  saying  to  you? 

Poppy,  flaunting  your  silken  dress, 
You'll  yet  wear  a  seedy  cap,  I  guess. 

Buttercup,  bring  your  gold  saucers  to  me; 
Here  are  two  butterflies  coming  to  tea. 

Daisy,  daisy,  look  over  the  way  — 
Why  do  you  stare  at  the  sun  all  day? 

Pansy,  what  are  you  laughing  about? 

"  Born  to  the  purple  "  were  you,  no  doubt. 

But,  violet  sweet,  O  violet  sweet, 
Fairer  are  you  at  the  Pansy's  feet. 

Mary  A.  Bathbuty. 

sons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  27,  28.  It  will  be  observed  that  there  are  three 
problems  for  picturing,  though  the  first,  number  four,  may  not  bring  in  the 
idea  of  picturing  but  simply  the  movements  of  the  mind  from  one  idea  to  the 
other.  Others  can  be  introduced  according  to  the  necessity  of  pupils,  but  as  a 
rule  it  is  not  wise  to  dwell  too  long  on  this  subject.  Many  have  made  too  much 
of  it,  and  have  introduced  an  effort  to  make  pictures,  which  should  never  be. 
The  seeing  of  pictures  should  be  spontaneous,  and  the  way  to  develop  spon- 
taneity is  by  the  study  of  nature,  observation,  and  storing  the  mind  full  of 
beautiful  things. 

All  expression  must  be  associated  with  observation,  with  nature-study. 
Pupils  will  remember  what  they  have  seen.  Teachers  must  be  sure  that  every- 
thing read  about  has  been  seen  and  observed  at  first  hand.  Leaves,  flowers, 
even  animals  should  be  taken  to  the  school.  Sometimes  pictures  may  be  used, 
but  only  to  help  students  to  identify  objects.  Children  in  crowded  sections 
should  be  taken  to  the  country,  or  should  be  recommended  to  go  to  the  parks 
with  their  parents.  One  such  trip  may  cause  more  awakening  than  months  of 
labor  in  school.  The  school  without  nature  can  hardly  accomplish  the  work. 

Reading  is  so  apt  to  be  considered  a  mere  matter  of  words  that  some  will 
not  see  the  importance  of  this.  But  the  teacher  who  is  patient  and  who  awakens 
the  mental  energy  of  pupils  will  discover,  gradually,  the  effect  of  thinking  upon 
the  voice  and  the  unfolding  of  naturalness.  Many  things  will  be  accomplished 
without  the  teacher's  knowing  how  they  are  done. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  13 

9.  At  sight  of  a  word  or  phrase  do  the  pictures  of  the 
flowers  here  mentioned  spring  up  in  your  mind  at  once 
and  of  themselves?     Can  you  leave  your  mind  to  act 
freely  and  promptly  as  the   eye   grasps  the  word  or 
phrase? 

The  glory  has  passed  from  the  goldenrod's  plume, 
The  purple- hued  asters  still  linger  in  bloom; 
The  birch  is  bright  yellow,  the  sumachs  are  red, 
The  maples  like  torches  aflame  overhead. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

IV.  OBSERVATION  AND   FEELING 

ALL  THINGS   WAIT  UPON  THEE 

Innocent  eyes  not  ours 

And  made  to  look  on  flowers, 
Eyes  of  small  birds,  and  insects  small; 

Morn  after  summer  morn 

The  sweet  rose  on  her  thorn 
Opens  her  bosom  to  them  all. 

The  last  and  least  of  things, 

That  soar  on  quivering  wings, 
Or  crawl  among  the  grass  blades  out  of  sight, 

Have  just  as  clear  a  right 
To  their  appointed  portion  of  delight 

As  queens  or  kings. 

Christina  Georgina  Rossetti. 

10.  Not   only   picture   with   your   mind,   but   enjoy 
each  successive  idea;    always  both  see  and  feel  before 
you  try  to  tell.     Observe,  too,  that  you  must  see  and 
feel  but  one  thing  at  a  time. 

THE  BIRD'S  NEST 

Eliza  and  Anne  were  extremely  distressed 
To  see  an  old  bird  fly  away  from  her  nest, 

And  leave  her  poor  young  ones  alone; 
The  pitiful  chirping  they  heard  from  the  tree 
Made  them  think  it  as  cruel  as  cruel  could  be, 

Not  knowing  for  what  she  had  flown. 

Pupils  should  be  awakened  not  only  to  picture  things,  but  to  feel  and  enjoy 
them  as  well.  The  human  mind  is  a  unit,  and  all  faculties  and  powers  should 
act  harmoniously. 


14  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

But,  when  with  a  worm  in  her  bill  she  return'd, 
They  smil'd  on  each  other,  soon  having  discern'd 

She  had  not  forsaken  her  brood; 
But,  like  their  dear  mother,  was  careful  and  kind, 
Still  thinking  of  them,  though  she  left  them  behind 

To  seek  for  them  suitable  food. 

Elizabeth  Turner. 

11.  How  many  birds  do  you  know  by  their  colors,  by 
their  songs?     Can  you  put  your  feeling  for  the  robin 
into  your  voice  as  you  give  these  words? 

SPRING  TWILIGHT 

Singing  in  the  rain,  robin?     Rippling  out  so  fast 

All  thy  flute-like  notes,  as  if  this  singing  were  thy  last! 

After  sundown,  too,  robin?     Though  the  fields  are  dim, 

And  the  trees  grow  dark  and  still,  dripping  from  leaf  and  limb. 

Surely,  thus  to  sing,  robin,  thou  must  have  in  sight 
Beautiful  skies  behind  the  shower,  and  dawn  beyond  the  night. 
Would  thy  faith  were  mine,  robin!  then,  though  night  were  long, 
All  its  silent  hours  should  melt  their  sorrow  into  song. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 

V.   TRAINING  THE  MIND  TO  USE  THE  EYE  AND  EAR 

•  SUPPOSE 

How  dreary  would  the  meadows  be 

In  the  pleasant  summer  light, 
Suppose  there  wasn't  a  bird  to  sing, 

And  suppose  the  grass  was  white ! 

And  dreary  would  the  garden  be, 

With  all  its  flowery  trees, 
Suppose  there  were  no  butterflies, 

And  suppose  there  were  no  bees. 

And  what  would  all  the  beauty  be, 

And  what  the  song  that  cheers, 
Suppose  we  hadn't  any  eyes, 

And  suppose  we  hadn't  ears?  .  .  . 

Alice  Gary. 

12.  In  reading  the  preceding  what    do    you  see  or 
hear;  or,  in  the  following,  how  many  birds  do  you  see  in 
your  mind?     How  many  sounds  do  you  hear  and  enjoy? 

One  bird  that  has  been  listened  to,  and  observed,  and  named  by  the  children 
will  be  worth  a  hundred  that  have  been  seen  just  as  birds  without  being  dis- 
criminated. Ideas,  to  be  of  consequence,  must  be  specific,  definite  and  exact. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  15 

O  Larks,  sing  out  to  the  thrushes, 

And  thrushes,  sing  to  the  sky! 
Sing  from  your  nests  in  the  bushes, 

And  sing  wherever  you  fly. 

13.  Does  the  reading  of  this  poem  bring  butterflies  to 
your  mind?     Do  you  see  them  colored,  and  flitting  about 
as  you  see  them  in  life? 

THE  BUTTERFLY'S  TOILET 

Oh,  butterfly,  how  do  you,  pray, 
Your  wings  so  prettily  array? 
Where  do  you  find  the  paints  from  which 
To  mix  the  colors  warm  and  rich? 

The  butterfly  in  answer  said: 
"  The  roses  lend  me  pink  and  red, 
The  violets  their  deepest  blue, 
And  every  flower  its  chosen  hue. 

"  My  palette  is  a  rose-leaf  fair, 
My  brush  is  formed  of  maiden-hair, 
And  dew-drops  shining  in  the  grass 
Serve  nicely  for  my  looking  glass." 

Nixon  Waterman. 

14.  Listen  for  the  difference  in  pitch  between  the 
hum  of  the  honey-bee    and   that  of  the    bumble-bee. 
Give  with  the  voice  the  honey-bee's    tone;    then  the 
bumble-bee's  after  it.     Observe  the  differences. 

When  the  apple  trees  are  in  blossom  you  may  hear  a  thousand 
honey-bees  in  a  continuous  complex  hum,  hum,  hum. 

The  bumble-bee  loves  the  clover  best  and  you  can  hear  him  from     /   ' 
morning  till  night  with  his  low  bum,  bum,  bum. 

TO  A  HONEY-BEE 

"  Busy-body,  busy-body, 

Always  on  the  wing, 
Wait  a  bit,  where  you  have  lit, 

And  tell  me  why  you  sing.  .  . 

"  Come,  just  a  minute  come, 

From  your  rose  so  red." 
Hum,  hum,  hum,  hum — 

That  was  all  she  said.  .  .  . 

Alice  Gary. 

One  of  the  first  faculties  to  awaken  in  the  child  is  the  sense  of  color.  The 
awakening  of  the  sense  of  action  probably  precedes  that  of  color,  and  the  sense 
of  sound  follows  soon  after.  All  these  should  receive  attention  from  the  earliest 


16  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

15.  When  you  talk  do  you  make  tones  on  one  pitch  as 
the  bumble-bee  does?     Speak  "  No  "  very  emphatically, 
and  then  as  a  question.     What  did  your  voice  do,  and 
how  did  it  differ  from  the  hum  of  the  bee?     Read  these 
lines   and   let   your   voice  jump   about   freely.     What 
makes  it  jump  about?     Sing  a  word  and  then  speak  it. 
What  is  the  difference? 

HAREBELLS 
Blue  sky  and  bluer  sea, 

And  harebell  at  my  feet 
Blue  yet  more  utterly, 

Why  is  your  hue  so  sweet? 

What  fiber  of  my  soul 

Thrills  at  your  loveliness? 
Why  should  a  tint  control 

My  heart  like  a  caress? 

Blue  sky  and  bluer  sea 

And  harebell  at  my  feet, 
How  can  mere  color  be 

Beyond  all  telling  sweet?  Arlo  Bates. 

16.  What    birds    have    disagreeable    voices?     What 
birds  sing  very  beautiful  songs?     Have  you  ever  stopped 
to  wonder  why  the  robin's  note  is  joyous  and  pleases 
you? 

TO  THE  ROBIN  THAT   SINGS  AT   MY  WINDOW 
Robin,  abob  in  the  top  of  the  sycamore, 
Swinging  and  singing  and  flinging  your  song 
Out  on  the  April  breeze, 
Over  the  maple  trees, 
Like  a  gay  cavalier  lilting  along 
Over  the  hills  to  the  valleys  of  Arcady, 
Through  dewy  dells  where  spring  blossoms  blow, 
Out  of  gray  shadow  lands 
Into  May  meadow  lands 
Starry  with  wind-flowers  whiter  than  snow, 
Oh,  let  me  ride  with  you,  Robin,  to  Arcady, 
Swift  through  the  cool  of  the  dew  and  the  dawn — 
Oh,  let  me  sing  with  you — 
Make  the  road  ring  with  you, 
Gaily  and  gallantly  galloping  on. 

years,  even  months,  of  the  child's  life.  But  frequently  this  training  has  been 
neglected.  To  stimulate  this  sense  butterflies,  flowers,  autumn  leaves,  may  all 
be  used. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  17 

Sing,  Robin,  sing  a  wild  ballad  of  Arcady, 
Fresh  as  the  fleet  rosy  clouds  of  the  dawn. 
Sing  as  I  ride  with  you, 
Sing  side  by  side  with  you, 
While  we  go  galloping,  galloping  on. 

Sing  of  the  deeds  that  were  done  while  yet  the  world  was  young, 
Sing  of  brave  stories  that  never  were  told, 
Sing  of  the  olden  time, 
Sing  of  the  golden  time, 
Sing  of  the  glory  that  never  grows  old, 
Sing  the  grand  hymn  of  the  pines  and  the  summer  seas, 
Sing  the  wind's  song  and  the  rush  of  the  rain, 
Sing  of  the  mystery, 
Older  than  history, 
Sung  by  the  seed  in  the  growth  of  the  grain. 

Sing  me  the  song  of  the  sun  and  the  summer-time, 
Sing  me  the  song  that  the  bumble-bee  drones, 
As  he  goes  blundering 
Home  from  his  plundering 
Deep  down  in  orchards  that  nobody  owns. 
Flute  throated  herald  of  June  and  of  Hollyhocks, 
Ripple-tongued  singer  of  roses  and  rain, 
Earliest,  merriest, 
Bravest  and  veriest 

Promise  of  summer  and  sunshine  again. 
Come,  let  me  ride  with  you,  Robin,  to  Arcady 
Over  the  hills  in  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
Out  of  the  shadow  lands 
Into  the  meadow  lands 
Where  it  is  summer  forever  and  aye. 

John  Bennett. 

SEPTEMBER 

'Tis  the  radiant  rare  September, 

With  the  clusters  ripe  on  the  vine, 
With  scents  that  mingle  in  spicy  tingle 

On  the  hill-slope's  glimmering  line. 

And  summer's  a  step  behind  us, 

And  autumn's  a  thought  before, 
And  each  fleet  sweet  day  that  we  meet  on  the  way 

Is  an  angel  at  the  door. 

Not  known. 

The  training  of  the  ear  is  best  initiated  by  a  study  of  the  sounds  of  nature. 
In  my  opinion  training  to  recognize  qualities  should  come  before  training  to 
recognize  changes  of  pitch.  Still  it  does  not  much  matter  which  is  first,  both 
are  so  necessary.  The  joyous  song  of  the  robin  and  bobolink  is  a  perpetual 
teacher,  an  example  both  in  quality  and  in  variety  of  pitch. , 


18 


LITTLE     CLASSICS 


VI.   LIVING   OUR   IDEAS 

OLD   MAXIMS 

A  good  many  workers 

I've  known  in  my  time  — 
Some  builders  of  houses, 

Some  builders  of  rhyme; 
And  they  that  were  prospered, 

Were  prospered,  I  know, 
By  the  intent  and  meaning  of 

"  Hoe  your  own  row!  " 
From  "  Hoe  Your  Own  Row." 


Alice  Cary. 


17.  Read  a  fable,  letting  the  animals  or  objects  think 
as  well  as  talk.  How  would  these  buckets  differ  in  the 
way  they  speak,  and  why? 

THE  TWO  BUCKETS 

"  How  dismal  you  look!  "  said  a  bucket  to  his  companion  as 
they  were  going  to  the  well. 

"  Ah!  "  replied  the  other,  "  I  was  thinking  how  useless  it  is  for 
us  to  be  filled;  for  let  us  go  away  ever  so  full,  we  always  come 
back  empty." 

"  Dear  me!  how  strange  to  look  at  it  in  that  way!  "  said  the 
other  bucket.  "  Now,  I  enjoy  the  thought  that,  however  empty 
we  come,  we  always  go  away  full." 

THE  BANNER  AND   THE   CARPET 

The  royal  banner  bent  his  head, 
And  to  the  royal  carpet  said: 
"  In  the  palace  at  Bagdad 
Different  duties  we  have  had; 
Different,  too,  is  our  reward, 
Though  servants  both  of  one  great  lord. 
While  the  storms  beat  on  my  head, 
For  a  queen's  feet  you  are  spread. 
I,  on  marches  blown  and  torn, 
Into  the  jaws  of  death  am  borne. 
You  are  kept  from  dust  and  rains, 
Battles,  winds,  and  rents  and  stains. 
Yours,  a  calm  and  happy  life; 
Mine  is  full  of  pain  and  strife." 
Then  the  royal  carpet  said: 

The  teacher  will  observe  that  the  aim  here  is  to  awaken  dramatic  instinct. 
It  usually  does  not  need  much  awakening;  it  simply  needs  to  be  used  as  a  help 
in  education.  Games  may  be  used,  and  dialogues  extemporized  from  fables 
and  stories,  until  the  children  become  free  and  spontaneous. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH 


19 


"  You  to  heaven  may  lift  your  head. 
I  lie  here  beneath  men's  feet, 
A  slave  to  tread  on  and  to  beat; 
You,  in  battle's  stormy  night, 
May  lead  heroes  to  the  fight." 

William  R.  Alger. 

18.   Tell  a  story  just  as  if  you  were  living  it  over  at 
the  moment. 

A  man  blind  from  his  birth  asked  another  who  could  see,  "  What 

is  the  color  of  milk?  " 

The  latter  replied,  "  The  color  of  milk  is  like  white  paper." 
The  blind  man  asked,  "  Does  white,  then,  rustle  in  the  hands 

like  paper?  " 

The  man  who  could  see  replied,  "  No,  it  is  simply  white  like  a 

rabbit." 

The  blind  man  asked,  "  Then  is  it  downy  and  soft  like  a  rabbit?  " 
The  man  who  could  see  replied,  "  No,  white  is  a  color  exactly 

like  snow." 

The  blind  man  then  asked,  "  And  is  it  cold  like  snow?  " 

And  in  spite  of  all  the  comparisons  that  the  man  who  could  see 

made,  the  blind  man  was  wholly  unable  to  apprehend  what  the 

color  of  milk  really  was. 

Leo  Tolstoi. 


THE   PERT   CHICKEN 

There  was  once  a  pretty  chicken; 

But  his  friends  were  very  few, 
For  he  thought  that  there  was  nothing 

In  the  world  but  what  he  knew: 
So  he  always,  in  the  farmyard, 

Had  a  very  forward  way, 
Telling  all  the  hens  and  turkeys 

What  they  ought  to  do  and  say. 

"  Mrs.  Goose,"  he  said,  "  I  wonder 
That  your  goslings  you  should  let 

Go  out  paddling  in  the  water; 
It  will  kill  them  to  get  wet." 

"  I  wish,  my  dear  Aunt  Dorking," 

He  began  to  her,  one  day, 
"  That  you  wouldn't  sit  all  summer 

In  your  nest  upon  the  hay. 
Won't  you  come  out  to  the  meadow, 

Where  the  grass  with  seeds  is  filled?  " 
"  If  I  should,"  said  Mrs.  Dorking, 

"  Then  my  eggs  would  all  get  chilled." 


20  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  No,  they  won't,"  replied  the  chicken; 

"  And  no  matter  if  they  do: 
Eggs  are  really  good  for  nothing; 

What's  an  egg  to  me  or  you?  " 

"  What's  an  egg!  "  said  Mrs.  Dorking; 

"  Can  it  be  you  do  not  know 
You  yourself  were  in  an  egg-shell 

Just  one  little  month  ago? 
And,  if  kind  wings  had  not  warmed  you, 

You  would  not  be  out  to-day, 
Telling  hens,  and  geese,  and  turkeys, 

What  they  ought  to  do  and  say? 

"  To  be  very  wise  and  show  it, 

Is  a  pleasant  thing,  no  doubt; 
But  when  young  folks  talk  to  old  folks, 

They  should  know  what  they're  about." 

Not  known. 


II 

IMPRESSIONS    AND    HOW    CONDITIONS 
RESPOND   TO   THEM 

VII.    IMPRESSION    AND    THE   BODY 

Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me 

'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good; 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. 
From  "  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

19.   Suppose  you  hear  a  drum  and  someone  cries, 
"  Hurrah,    the    soldiers! "     What    effect    does    such    a 
sudden  surprise  have  upon  your  body?     What  do  you 
find  your  body  doing  when  you  give  a  joyous  shout? 
Hurrah!  hurrah!  let  us  build  a  snow  man  as  big  as  a  giant. 

Some  simple  surprise  can  be  used  which  will  show  the  student  that  the 
whole  body  responds  before  speech.  Action  is  premature  language.  Nature 
has  a  certain  order  of  unfoldment.  We  may  violate  this  order  but  we  ac- 
complish tenfold  when  we  follow  it.  The  training  of  the  whole  body  should 
precede  training  of  the  part.  Vocal  training  should  precede  language  training. 
Great  care  should  be  exercised  to  make  the  actions  of  the  body  spontaneous 
responses  to  thinking  and  feeling  —  not  simply  volitional  acts. 

The  first  effect  of  emotion  is  expansion.  The  teacher  should  choose  pas- 
sages illustrating  joy,  patriotism  or  such  exalted  emotion  as  will  stimulate  the 
expansive  activity  of  the  body. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  21 

20.  When  you  say  "  Hurrah  for  the  flag!  "  or  give 
words  full  of  joy  and  excitement,  how  is  your  body 
affected? 

A  BOY'S   SONG  IN  SPRING 

Hurrah,  for  the  snow  is  over, 

And  the  merry  brook  is  free! 
We'll  soon  sip  sweets  from  the  clover 

Along  with  the  bumble-bee. 

We'll  track  the  soaring  swallow 

As  he  eddies  above  the  trees, 
And  follow  him  and  follow, 

And  dream  of  the  things  he  sees. 

We'll  watch  the  insects  springing 

Till  they  seem  like  roguish  elves, 
And  hark  to  the  brown  thrush  singing 

Till  we  want  to  sing  ourselves. 

Hurrah,  for  the  snow  is  over! 

And  Winter,  the  poor  old  soul, 
Has  gone  to  play  the  rover 

On  the  meadows  of  the  pole. 

From  "  A  Boy's  Book  of  Rhyme,"  Clinton  Scollard. 

Q.  W.  Browning,  Clinton,  N.  Y.,  Publisher. 
By  permission. 

21.  How  does  patriotism  affect  the  body?     What  is 
the  difference  in  effect  between  courage  and  fear?     What 
is  the  difference  between  an  ignoble  and  a  noble  emo- 
tion?   Between  tenderness  and  resolution?     Why  should 
we  practice  selections  full  of  joy,  patriotism  and  exalted 
emotions? 

Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 

Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land?  " 

Walter  Scott. 

Oh,  and  proudly  stood  she  up! 

Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail: 
She  looked  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes, 

And  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 
From  "  Lady  Clare."  Tennyson. 

The  next  step  is  elevation.  The  two  should  generally  go  together,  though 
problems  should  be  given  for  both — see  21,  for  elevation.  For  response  of 
body  and  voice,  see  "Foundations  of  Expression,"  pp.  61-96;  "Mind  and  Voice," 
pp.  54-64. 


22  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Bright  flag  at  yonder  tapering  mast, 

Fling  out  your  field  of  azure  blue; 
Let  star  and  stripe  be  westward  cast, 

And  point  as  Freedom's  eagle  flew! 
Strain  home!  O  lithe  and  quivering  spars! 
Point  home,  my  country's  flag  of  stars! 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis,  1806-1867. 

Where  may  the  wearied  eye  repose 

When  gazing  on  the  Great, 
Where  neither  guilty  glory  glows, 

Nor  despicable  state? 

Yes  —  one  —  the  first  —  the  last  —  the  best  — 
The  Cincinnatus  of  the  West, 

Whom  envy  dared  not  hate, 
Bequeathed  the  name  of  Washington, 
To  make  man  blush  there  was  but  one! 

Byron. 

THE  FLAG 

Symbol  of  hope  to  me  and  to  mine  and  to  all  who  aspire  to  be  free, 
Ever  your  golden  stars  may  shine  from  the  east  to  the  western  sea; 
Ever  your  golden  stars  may  shine,  and  ever  your  stripes  may  gleam, 
To  lead  us  on  from  the  deeds  we  do  to  the  greater  deeds  that  we 
dream. 

Here  is  our  love  to  you,  flag  of  the  free,  and  flag  of  the  tried  and 

true; 
Here  is  our  love  to  your  streaming  stripes  and  your  stars  in  a  field 

of  blue; 

Native  or  foreign,  we're  children  all  of  the  land  over  which  you  fly, 
And,  native  or  foreign,  we  love  the  land  for  which  it  were  sweet  to 

die. 

Denis  Aloysius  McCarthy. 


VIII.   HOW   IMPRESSIONS   CAUSE   VOICE 

Hark,  hark,  with  what  an  open  throat 
The  joyous  robin  tunes  his  note! 
Adapted  from  "  Spring's  Welcome."  John  Lyly. 

22.   How  does  deep  or  sudden  feeling  affect  you  in 
giving  some  exclamatory  word,  phrase  or  passage? 

Just  then  the  branches  lightly  stirred  — 
See  out  o'  the  apple  boughs  a  bird 
Bursts  music-mad  into  the  blue  abyss. 
From  "  At  Dawn."  Edwin  Markham. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  23 

Away,  away,  from  men  and  towns, 
To  the  wild  wood  and  the  downs  — 
To  the  silent  wilderness 
Where  the  soul  need  not  repress 
Its  music  lest  it  should  not  find 
An  echo  in  another's  mind, 
While  the  touch  of  Nature's  art 
Harmonizes  heart  to  heart. 
From  "  The  Invitation."  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

No;  thus  I  rend  thy  tyrant's  chain, 
And  fling  him  back  a  boy's  disdain! 
From  "  The  Polish  Boy." 

23.  The  taking  of  breath  and  the  opening  of  the  tone 
passage  naturally  respond  to  an  impression.  Do  they 
act  separately  or  together?  As  two  things,  or  as  one? 

Awake!  arise!  and  come  away! 
Radiant  Sister  of  the  Day, 
To  the  wild  woods  and  the  plains, 
And  the  pools  where  winter  rains 
Image  all  their  roof  of  leaves. 
From  "  The  Invitation."  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 

"  Oh!   mamma,  there  is  a  bluebird!     Spring  is  come!  " 
"  A  bluebird!     Impossible  so  early  in  March.     You  must  be 
mistaken." 

"  No.  Come  to  the  door;  you  can  hear  him  just  as  plain!  " 
Sure  enough,  on  the  highest  top  of  the  great  button-ball  tree 
opposite  the  house  sat  the  little  blue  angel  singing  with  all  his 
might  —  a  living  sapphire  dropped  down  from  the  walls  of  the 
beautiful  city  above.  A  most  sanguine  and  imprudent  bluebird 
he  must  certainly  have  been,  though  the  icicles  on  the  eaves  of  the 
house  were  actually  commencing  to  drip.  But  there  undoubtedly 
he  was  —  herald  of  good  days  to  come. 

The  boys  and  little  Dolly  ran  out,  shouting  wildly:  "  Hurrah! 
There  is  a  bluebird.  Spring  is  coming  —  spring  is  coming!  " 

Yes.  Spring  was  coming;  the  little  bluebird  herald 'was  right, 
though  he  must  have  chilled  his  beak  and  frozen  his  toes  as  he  sat 
there.  But  he  came  from  the  great  Somewhere,  where  things  are 
always  bright;  where  life  and  summer  and  warmth  and  flowers  are 
forever  going  on  while  we  are  bound  down  under  ice  and  snow. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

Vocal  exercises  for  young  students  should  be  given  with  great  care.  The 
best  are  simple  exclamations  full  of  joy  and  heartiness.  These  can  be  originated 
by  the  teacher  or  taken  from  poems.  Joyous  excitement  not  only  expands  and 
lifts  the  body,  but  causes  the  taking  of  breath,  and  the  opening  of  the  tone 
passage  just  before  the  exclamation.  In  training  children's  voices  the  pri- 
mary emphasis  must  always  be  on  the  mental  action.  See  "  Mind  and  Voice," 
pp.  17;  19-31;  45;  59-67. 


24  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

24.  Give  definite  attention  to  some  idea,  or  situation, 
and  receive  such  a  vivid  impression  that  your  body  ex- 
pands, that  you  take  breath,  and  open  the  tone  pas- 
sage.    Before  speaking  such  an  exclamation  as  "  Ah," 
from  the  following  passage;    "  Good-night,"  from  the 
second  passage;    "  Ha!  "    "  Hurrah!  "  or  any  exclama- 
tion, accentuate  all  the  primary  preparatory  actions  or 
conditions  for  speech.     Repeat  this  many  times  till  both 
actions  take  place  easily  and  naturally  together. 

c:  Ah,  the  wise  little  bees!  they  know  how  to  live, 

Each  one  in  peace  with  his  neighbor; 
For  though  they  dwell  in  a  narrow  hive, 
They  never  seem  too  thick  to  thrive, 

Nor  so  many  they  spoil  their  labor.  .  .  . 

"  And  wherever  you  stay,  or  wherever  you  roam, 

In  the  days  while  you  live  in  clover, 
You  should  gather  your  honey  and  bring  it  home, 
Because  the  winter  will  surely  come, 

When  the  summer  of  life  is  over." 

Good-night!  ye  merry,  merry  birds, 

Sleep  well  till  morning  light; 
Perhaps  if  you  could  sing  in  words, 

You  would  have  said,  "  Good-night!  " 

To  all  my  pretty  flowers,  good-night! 

You  blossom  while  I  sleep; 
And  all  the  stars  that  shine  so  bright 

With  you  their  watches  keep. 

The  moon  is  lighting  up  the  skies, 

The  stars  are  sparkling  there; 
'Tis  time  to  shut  our  weary  eyes, 

And  say  our  evening  prayer. 
From  "  Good-Night."  Eliza  Lee  Pollen. 

25.  Can  you  receive  such  a  decided  picture  or  im- 
pression of  each  successive  phrase  that  the  taking  of 
breath  and  the  opening  of  the  tone  passage  immediately 
follow  your  ideas,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  an  exclamation, 
cause  the  conditions  which  will  support  the  speaking  of 
the  words  of  the  phrase? 

Technical  exercises  must  not  be  too  much  separated  from  words;  nor  physi- 
cal training  from  expressive  action  of  the  body;  not  either  of  these  from  the 
direct  action  of  the  mind. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  25 

THE  BELL  BUOY 

They  christened  my  brother  of  old  — 

And  a  saintly  name  he  bears  — 
They  gave  him  his  place  to  hold 

At  the  head  of  the  belfry  stairs, 

Where  the  minster  towers  stand 
And  the  breeding  kestrels  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland? 
(Shoal!  'Ware  shoal:)     Not  I!  .  .  . 

When  the  smoking  scud  is  blown, 

When  the  greasy  wind-rack  lowers, 
Apart  and  at  peace  and  alone, 

He  counts  the  changeless  hours. 

He  wars  with  darkling  Powers 
(I  war  with  a  darkling  sea) ; 

Would  he  stoop  to  my  work  in  the  gusty  mirk? 
(Shoal!  'Ware  shoal 0  Not  he!  .  .  . 

Through  the  blur  of  the  whirling  snow, 

Or  the  black  of  the  inky  sleet, 
The  lanterns  gather  and  grow, 

And  I  look  for  the  homeward  fleet. 

Rattle  of  block  and  sheet  — 
"  Ready  about  —  stand  by!  " 

Shall  I  ask  them  a  fee  ere  they  fetch  the  quay? 
(Shoal!  'Ware  shoal!)     Not  I!  ... 
From  "  The  Five  Nations."  Rudyard  Kipling. 

IX.   EASE  AND  FREEDOM   OF  TONE 

Yo  ho!     Yo  ho!  to  the  sea  we  go, 

Three  sailors  gay  are  we; 
The  tide  is  full  and  the  sun  drops  low, 

'Tis  time  we  put  to  sea. 
Heave  up,  heave  up  our  wide-winged  sail 

And  let  the  wind  blow  free; 
No  fears  have  we  though  it  blow  a  gale, 

For  sailors  bold  are  we. 

26.  Feel  yourself  a  sailor  in  giving  this  "  Yo  ho!" 
Let  it  express  the  sailor's  heartiness  and  joy  at  going 
to  sea. 

The  greatest  hindrance  to  freedom  of  tone  is  constriction  in  the  tone  pas- 
sage. The  cause  of  this  is  embarrassment,  lack  of  attention,  indifference,  an- 
tagonism, a  mechanical  manner,  elimination  of  feeling,  or  a  habitual  cramping 
of  the  jaw.  When  a  pupil  is  reading  be  sure  that  all  his  body,  especially  the 
throat  and  face,  is  easy  and  free,  and  that  there  is  interest  and  enjoyment  in 
his  mind.  See  "  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp.  119-165. 


26  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

There's  a  breathless  hush  in  the  Close  to-night  — 

Ten  to  make  and  the  match  to  win  — 
A  bumping  pitch  and  a  blinding  light, 

An  hour  to  play  and  the  last  man  in. 
And  it's  not  for  the  sake  of  a  ribboned  coat, 

Or  the  selfish  hope  of  a  season's  fame, 
But  his  Captain's  hand  on  his  shoulder  smote 

"  Play  up!  play  up!  and  play  the  game!  "... 

This  is  the  word  that  year  by  year 

While  in  her  place  the  School  is  set 
Every  one  of  her  sons  must  hear, 

And  none  that  hears  it  dare  forget. 
This  they  all  with  a  joyful  mind 

Bear  through  life  like  a  torch  in  flame, 
And  falling  fling  to  the  host  behind  — 

"  Play  up!  play  up!  and  play  the  game!  " 
"  Life's  Torch."  Henry  Newbolt. 

27.  Why  are  joy  and  heartiness  so  helpful  to  the 
voice?  Read  a  very  joyous  passage  letting  each  suc- 
cessive idea  cause  you  to  breathe  deeply  and  open  the 
tone  passage;  let  the  breath  then  come  out  freely, 
easily,  and  naturally. 

There's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming: 
We  may  not  live  to  see  the  day, 
But  earth  shall  glisten  in  the  ray 
Of  the  good  time  coming. 
Cannon  balls  may  aid  the  truth, 

But  thought's  a  weapon  stronger; 
We'll  win  our  battle  by  its  aid;  — 

Wait  a  little  longer.  Charles  Mackay. 

WINDLASS  SONG 

Heave  at  the  windlass!  —  Heave  O,  cheerly,  men! 
Heave  all  at  once,  with  a  will! 
The  tide  quickly  making, 
Our  cordage  a-creaking, 
The  water  has  put  on  a  frill, 
Heave  O! 

Fare  you  well,  on  shore!  —  Heave  O,  cheerly,  menl 
Fare  you  well,  frolic  and  sport! 
The  good  ship  all  ready, 
Each  dog-vane  is  steady, 
The  wind  blowing  dead  out  of  port, 
Heave  O! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  27 

Once  in  blue  water  —  Heave  O,  cheerly,  men! 
Blow  it  from  north  or  from  south; 
She'll  stand  to  it  tightly, 
And  curtsey  politely, 
And  carry  a  bone  in  her  mouth, 
Heave  O! 

Short  cruise  or  long  cruise  —  Heave  O,  cheerly,  men ! 
Jolly  Jack  Tar  thinks  it  one. 
No  latitude  dreads  he 
Of  White,  Black,  or  Red  Sea, 
Great  icebergs,  or  tropical  sun, 
Heave  O! 

One  other  turn,  and  Heave  O,  cheerly,  men! 
Heave,  and  good-bye  to  the  shore! 
Our  money,  how  went  it? 
We  shared  it  and  spent  it; 
Next  year  we'll  come  back  with  some  more, 
Heave  O! 

William  Allingham. 

X.   TONE  AND   SPEECH 

Hark!  hark!     Who  calleth  the  maiden  Morn 
From  her  sleep  in  the  woods  and  the  stubble  corn? 
The  horn!  the  horn! 
The  merry,  sweet  ring  of  the  hunter's  horn. 

28.  In  "Hark!"  and  other  exclamations,  give  as 
large,  free  vowels  as  you  can  —  not  loud,  but  with  open 
relaxed  mouth,  observing  the  conditions  of  the  tone 
passage,  as  in  the  last  lesson.  Read  also  whole  sen- 
tences and  make  all  vowels  easily,  large  and  open. 

Oh,  the  night  brings  sleep 

To  the  greenwoods  deep, 
To  the  birds  of  the  woods  its  nest; 

To  care  soft  hours, 

To  life  new  powers, 
To  the  sick  and  the  weary  —  rest! 

B.  W.  Procter. 

A  most  important  step  is  the  development  of  articulation.  All  work  for 
articulation  must  center  in  the  vowels.  There  must  be  no  work  or  labor,  es- 
pecially on  consonants.  If  the  vowels  are  open  and  free  and  the  voice  is  prop- 
erly modulated,  the  correct  consonants  will  ordinarily  follow  of  themselves.  If 
not,  some  specific  attention  may  be  given  to  them,  but  must  not  be  associated 
with  labor.  There  are  no  labor  elements  in  the  language.  All  must  be  simple, 
easy,  and  natural.  See  "  Foundations  of  Expression,"  pp.  193-198;  "  Mind  and 
Voice,"  pp.  402-418. 


28  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

HYMN  TO   THE   NIGHT 

I  heard  the  trailing  garments  of  the  Night 

Sweep  through  her  marble  halls! 
I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with  light 

From  the  celestial  walls! 

I  felt  her  presence,  by  its  spell  of  might 

Stoop  o'er  me  from  above; 
The  calm,  majestic  presence  of  the  Night, 

As  of  the  one  I  love.  .  .  . 

O  holy  Night!  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 

What  man  has  borne  before! 
Thou  lay'st  thy  finger  on  the  lips  of  Care, 

And  they  complain  no  more. 

Peace!  Peace!  Orestes-like  I  breathe  this  prayer! 

Descend  with  broad-winged  flight, 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-pray'd  for,  the  most  fair, 

The  best-beloved  Night! 

H.  W.  Longfellow. 

29.  What  is  the  effect  upon  the  tone  and  on  your 
words  when  you  cramp  your  throat,  tongue,  or  lips? 
Render  something  full  of  tenderness  and  joy,  and  feel 
the  relaxation  of  your  whole  mouth  and  tone  passage. 

No  ray  is  dimmed,  no  atom  worn, 
My  oldest  force  is  good  as  new, 
And  the  fresh  rose  on  yonder  thorn 
Gives  back  the  bending  heavens  in  dew. 
From  "  Song  of  Nature."  Emerson. 

There  is  dew  for  the  flow'ret, 
And  honey  for  the  bee, 
And  bowers  for  the  wild  bird, 
And  love  for  you  and  me. 

There  are  tears  for  the  many, 
And  pleasure  for  the  few, 
But  let  the  world  pass  on,  dear; 
There's  love  for  me  and  you. 

Thomas  Hood. 

Hear  the  skylark  in  the  cloud, 

Hear  the  cricket  in  the  grass, 
Thrilling  blitheness  clear  and  loud, 
Chirping  glee  to  all  who  pass. 
Oh!  ha!  ha!  the  merry  lay! 
Earth  and  sky  keep  holiday. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  29 

Hear  the  leaves  that  kiss  the  air, 
Hear  the  laughter  of  the  bees; 
Who  remembers  winter  care 
In  the  shining  days  like  these? 
Oh!  ho!  ho!  the  merry  June! 
All  our  hearts  are  glad  in  tune. 
Adapted  from  "  The  Lay  of  June."  Mrs.  Augusta  Davies  Webster. 


XI.   LAUGHTER   AND  VOICE 

FOREST   SONG 

A  song  for  the  beautiful  trees, 

A  song  for  the  forest  grand, 

The  Garden  of  God's  own  hand, 
The  pride  of  His  centuries. 
Hurrah!  for  the  kingly  oak, 

For  the  maple,  the  sylvan  queen, 
For  the  lords  of  the  emerald  cloak, 

For  the  ladies  in  living  green. 

A  song  for  the  palm,  the  pine, 
And  for  every  tree  that  grows, 
From  the  desolate  zone  of  snows 

To  the  zone  of  the  burning  line. 

Hurrah!  for  the  warders  proud 
Of  the  mountain  side  ard  vale, 

That  challenge  the  thunder  cloud 
And  buffet  the  stormy  gale. 

So  long  as  the  rivers  flow, 

So  long  as  the  mountains  rise, 

May  the  forests  sing  to  the  skies, 
And  shelter  the  earth  below. 
Hurrah!  for  the  beautiful  trees! 

Hurrah!  for  the  forest  grand, 
The  pride  of  His  centuries, 

The  Garden  of  God's  own  hand. 

William  Henry  Venable. 

30.  What  are  the  conditions  of  voice  and  body  in 
genuine,  hearty  laughter?  Laugh  "  ha,  ha!  "  easily,  and 
observe  that  you  naturally  strengthen  the  primary  con- 
ditions of  voice;  you  take  and  keep  breath  freely  in  the 
middle  of  your  body,  and  open  the  tone  passage.  Make 
sure  that  these  conditions  respond  easily  and  naturally 
without  any  labor. 


30  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way 

And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a; 
A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a. 
Autolycus  in  "  A  Winter's  Tale."  William  Shakespeare. 

31.  Give  tender  or  gentle  laughter,  such  as  that  of 
the  flowers  in  the  next  passage,  or  of  the  robin  in  the 
next  following.     While  expressing  the  feeling  of  tender- 
ness, retain  the  breath  in  sympathy  and  preserve  the 
openness  of  the  tone  passage.     Observe  that  these  con- 
ditions may  be  greatly  strengthened  while  the  tender- 
ness is  not  lost  but  rather  intensified. 

Then,  "  Ha!  ha!  ha!  "  a  chorus  came 
Of  laughter  soft  and  low, 

From  the  millions  of  flowers  under  the  ground- 
Yes —  millions —  beginning  to  grow. 

Not  known. 

THE  ROBIN 

The  robin  laughed  in  the  orange  tree: 

"  Ho,  windy  North,  a  fig  for  thee! 

While  breasts  are  red  and  wings  are  bold 

And  green  trees  wave  us  globes  of  gold, 
Time's  scythe  shall  reap  but  bliss  for  me, 
Sunlight,  song,  and  the  orange  tree. 

"  I'll  south  with  the  sun,  and  keep  my  clime; 
My  wing  is  king  of  the  summer  time; 
My  breast  to  the  sun  his  torch  shall  hold; 
And  I'll  call  down  through  the  green  and  gold, 

Time,  take  thy  scythe,  reap  bliss  for  me. 

Bestir  thee  under  the  orange  tree!  " 

Sidney  Lanier. 

32.  Can  you  render  these  lines  with  the  spirit  of 
good  nature  and  laughter  —  without  the  "Ha,  ha!" 
yet  full  of  joy,  as  naturally  and  easily  as  a  smile?     Let 
your  tone  express  joy  and  heartiness  by  its  quality, 
rather  than  by  "  Ha,  ha's  "  or  "  Ho,  ho's." 

Laughter,  although  a  spontaneous  and  involuntary  act,  may  be  studied 
carefully,  and  used  as  an  exercise.  It  must  not  be  made  too  voluntary,  though 
it  can  be  made  semivoluntary,  the  breathing  greatly  quickened,  and  the  con- 
ditions established.  See  "  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp.  193-198. 

Laughter  may  be  very  delicate  and  fairy-like,  and  thus  the  imagination  be 
so  awakened  as  to  create  change  in  the  exercises.  See  "  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp. 
199-201. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  31 

Ah,  toward  the  Depot  of  Content, 

Where  no  red  signals  stream, 
I  go  by  ox-team  just  as  quick 

As  you  can  go  by  steam. 
From  " The  Ox-Team"  in  "  Whiffs  from  Wild  Meadows."     Sam  Walter  Foss. 

GUESSING   SONG 

Oh  ho!  oil  ho!     Pray,  who  can  I  be? 

I  sweep  o'er  the  land,  I  scour  o'er  the  sea; 

I  cuff  the  tall  trees  till  they  bow  down  their  heads, 

And  I  rock  the  wee  birdies  asleep  in  their  beds. 
Oh  ho!  oh  ho!     And  who  can  I  be, 
That  sweep  o'er  the  land  and  scour  o'er  the  sea? 

I  rumple  the  breast  of  the  gray-headed  daw, 
I  tip  the  rook's  tail  up  and  make  him  cry  "  caw; " 
But  though  I  love  fun,  I'm  so  big  and  so  strong, 
At  a  puff  of  my  breath  the  great  ships  sail  along. 
Oh  ho!  oh  ho!     And  who  can  I  be, 
That  sweep  o'er  the  land  and  sail  o'er  the  sea? 

I  swing  all  the  weather-cocks  this  way  and  that, 
I  play  hare-and-hounds,  with  a  runaway  hat; 
But  however  I  wander,  I  never  can  stray, 
For  go  where  I  will,  I've  a  free  right  of  way ! 
Oh  ho!  oh  ho!     And  who  can  I  be, 
That  sweep  o'er  the  land  and  scour  o'er  the  sea? 

I  skim  o'er  the  heather,  I  dance  up  the  street, 
I've  foes  that  I  laugh  at,  and  friends  that  I  greet; 
I'm  known  in  the  country,  I'm  named  in  the  town, 
For  all  the  world  over  extends  my  renown 
Oh  ho!  oh  ho!     And  who  can  I  be, 
That  sweep  o'er  the  land  and  scour  o'er  the  sea? 

Henry  Johnstone. 

XII.    IMPRESSION   AND   STRENGTH   OF   VOICE 

But  vain  the  sword  and  vain  the  bow, 

They  ne'er  can  work  War's  overthrow. 

The  hermit's  prayer  and  the  widow's  tear 

Alone  can  free  the  world  from  fear.         William  Blake. 

33.  What  determines  the  number  of  times  you 
breathe?  Read  this  passage,  increasing  attention  and 
giving  very  definitely  one  idea  at  a  time,  and  note  the 
effect  upon  voice  conditions,  especially  upon  breathing. 

Conditions  for  voice  are  established  by  the  action  of  the  mind.  The  way 
we  think  determines  the  number  of  times  we  breathe.  The  teacher  will  con- 
tinue to  indicate  to  the  student  the  necessity  of  using  his  mind.  No  mere 
mechanical  obedience  to  a  rule,  or  imitation  of  the  teacher  is  of  any  advantage. 


32  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

THE  DAISY 

With  little  white  leaves  in  the  grasses, 
Spread  wide  for  the  smile  of  the  sun, 

It  waits  till  the  daylight  passes 
And  closes  them  one  by  one. 

I  have  asked  why  it  closed  at  even, 
And  I  know  what  it  wished  to  say: 

There  are  stars  all  night  in  the  heaven, 
And  I  am  the  star  of  the  day. 

Rennell  Rodd. 

Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away! 
Rescue  my  castle  before  the  hot  day 
Brightens  to  blue  from  its  silvery  gray. 
Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away! 
From  "  Cavalier  Tunes."  Robert  Browning. 

34.  What  determines  the  amount  of  breath  you  take 
in  speaking?     What  effect  has  deep  and  intense  feeling, 
or  its  control  upon  breathing  or  the  actions  and  con- 
ditions of  the  voice? 

A  life  on  the  ocean  wave, 

A  home  on  the  rolling  deep, 
Where  the  scattered  waters  rave, 

And  the  winds  their  revels  keep! 
Like  an  eagle  caged,  I  pine 

On  this  dull,  unchanging  shore: 
Oh!  give  me  the  flashing  brine, 

The  spray  and  the  tempest's  roar! 
From  "  A  Life  On  the  Ocean  Wave."  Epes  Sargent. 

35.  When  you  shout  or  call  to  someone  at  a  distance, 
as  to  a  person  over  a  river,  what  special  things  do  you 
do  to  make  yourself  heard? 

LINE  UP,  BRAVE  BOYS 

The  packs  are  on,  the  cinches  tight, 

The  patient  horses  wait, 

Upon  the  grass  the  frost  lies  white, 

The  dawn  is  gray  and  late, 

The  leader's  cry  rings  sharp  and  clear, 

The  campfires  smoulder  low; 

Before  us  lies  a  shallow  mere, 

Beyond,  the  mountain  snow. 

Observe  that  the  amount  of  breath  is  determined  by  the  genuineness  of 
emotion  or  resolution,  or  by  the  degree  of  animation  and  excitement.  See 
"  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp.  286-309. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  33 

"  Line  up,  Billy,  line  up,  boys, 
The  east  is  gray  with  coming  day, 
We  must  away,  we  cannot  stay. 
Hy-o,  by-ak,  brave  boys!  " 

Five  hundred  miles  behind  us  lie, 

As  many  more  ahead, 

Through  mud  and  mire  on  mountains  high 

Our  weary  feet  must  tread. 

So  one  by  one,  with  loyal  mind, 

The  horses  swing  to  place, 

The  strong  in  lead,  the  weak  behind, 

In  patient  plodding  grace. 

"  Hy-o,  Buckskin,  brave  boy,  Joe! 

The  sun  is  high, 

The  hid  loons  cry: 

Hy-ak  —  away!     Hy-o!  " 
From  "  Songs  of  Nature."  Hamlin  Garland. 

36.  Speak  the  word  "  co  "  as  the  boy  does  when  call- 
ing the  cows.  If  your  tone  comes  out  open  and  free, 
what  conditions  do  you  find  increased?  What  happens 
when  you  suggest  this  call  as  far  away  over  the  hill? 

Over  the  hill  the  farm-boy  goes, 
His  shadow  lengthens  along  the  land, 
A  giant  staff  in  a  giant  hand ; 
In  the  poplar-tree,  above  the  spring, 
The  katydid  begins  to  sing; 

The  early  dews  are  falling;  — 
Into  the  stone-heap  darts  the  mink; 
The  swallows  skim  the  river's  brink; 
And  home  to  the  woodland  fly  the  crows, 
When  over  the  hill  the  farm-boy  goes, 
Cheerily  calling,  — 

"  Co',  boss!  co',  boss!  co'!  co'!  co'!  " 
Farther,  farther  over  the  hill, 
Faintly  calling,  calling  still,  — 

"  Co',  boss!  co',  boss!  Co'!  co'!  " 
From  "  Farm- Yard  Song."  John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 

The  pleasure  of  a  king 

Is  tasteless  to  the  mirth 
Of  peasants  when  they  bring 

The  harvest  of  the  earth. 
With  pipe  and  tabor  hither  roam 
All  ye  who  love  our  Harvest-home. 
Hurrah    for  the  English  yeoman ! 
Hurrah !  he  yields  to  no  man ! 
From  "  Harvest-Home  Song."  John  Davidson. 


34  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

37.  What    conditions    of    thinking    and    of    feeling 
directly  affect  voice  conditions? 

HARK  TO  THE   SHOUTING   WIND 

Hark  to  the  shouting  Wind!     Hark  to  the  flying  Rain! 

And  I  care  not  though  I  never  see  a  bright  blue  sky  again. 

There  are  thoughts  in  my  breast  to-day  that  are  not  for  human 

speech; 

But  I  hear  them  in  the  driving  storm,  and  the  roar  upon  the  beach. 
And  oh,  to  be  with  that  ship  that  I  watch  through  the  blinding 

brine! 
O  Wind!   for  thy  sweep  of  land  and  sea!     O  Sea!   for  a  voice  like 

thine! 

Henry  Timrod. 

38.  What  effect  upon  your  breathing  and  tone  pas- 
sage have  earnestness,  resolution,  gaiety,  joy,  heartiness? 

My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten 
Because  my  heart  is  pure. 

Tennyson. 

If  hopes  were  dupes,  fears  may  be  liars; 

It  may  be,  in  yon  smoke  concealed, 
Your  comrades  chase  e'en  now  the  flyers, 

And,  but  for  you,  possess  the  field. 

For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 

Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 
Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 

Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main. 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light; 

In  front,  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly, 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  1819-1861. 

Merry,  rollicking,  frolicking  May 

Into  the  woods  came  skipping  one  day; 

She  teased  the  brook  till  he  laughed  outright, 

And  gurgled  and  scolded  with  all  his  might; 

She  chirped  to  the  birds  and  bade  them  sing 

A  chorus  of  welcome  to  Lady  Spring; 

And  the  bees  and  butterflies  she  set 

To  waking  the  flowers  that  were  sleeping  yet 

She  shook  the  trees  till  the  buds  looked  out 

To  see  what  the  trouble  was  all  about; 

And  nothing  in  Nature  escaped  that  day 

The  touch  of  the  life-giving,  bright  young  May. 

George  Macdonald. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  35 

THE  WORLD'S  VICTORS 

Hurrah  for  the  beacon-lights  of  earth,  — 

The  brave,  triumphant  boys! 
Hurrah  for  their  joyous  shouts  of  mirth, 

And  their  blood-bestirring  noise! 
The  bliss  of  being  shall  never  die, 

Nor  the  old  world  seem  depressed 
While  a  boy's  stout  heart  is  beating  high, 

Like  a  glad  drum  in  his  breast.  .  .  . 

Oh,  never  the  lamp  of  age  burns  low 

In  its  cold  and  empty  cup. 
But  youth  comes  by  with  his  face  aglow, 

And  the  beacon-light  leaps  up. 
The  gloomiest  skies  grow  bright  and  gay, 

And  the  whispered  clouds  of  doubt 
Are  swept  from  the  brows  of  the  world  away 

By  a  boy's  triumphant  shout. 

From  "  Boy  Wanted,"  Forbes  and  Company,  Nixon  Waterman. 

Publishers,  Chicago.     By  permission. 

XIII.    CONDITIONS  FOR   TONE 

Of  all  our  good,  of  all  our  bad, 
This  one  thing  only  is  of  worth,  — 
We  hold  the  league  of  heart  to  heart 
The  only  purpose  of  the  earth 
From  "  The  Wander-Lovers."  Richard  Hovey. 

39.  Render  some  joyous  passage,  one  full  of  admira- 
tion of  nature,  or  one  requiring  some  earnestness.  In- 
crease all  the  mental  actions,  observing  whether  the 
conditions  of  body  and  voice  immediately  respond. 

Let  the  million-dollared  ride! 
Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side, 
Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy, 
In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye,  — 
Outward  sunshine,  inward  joy: 
Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy! 
From  "  The  Barefoot  Boy."  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

My  country,  'tis  of  thee,  sweet  land  of  liberty,  of  thee  I  sing;  land\, 
where  my  fathers  died!     Land  of  the  Pilgrims'  pride!     From  ev'ry 
mountain  side,  let  freedom  ring. 

My  native  country,  thee,  land  of  the  noble  free,  thy  name  I  love; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills,  thy  woods  and  templed  hills;  my  heart 
with  rapture  thrills,  like  that  above. 


36  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze,  and  ring  from  all  the  trees,  sweet  free- 
dom's song;  let  mortal  tongues  awake,  let  all  that  breathe  partake; 
let  rocks  their  silence  break,  —  the  sound  prolong. 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  Thee,  author  of  liberty,  to  thee  we  sing: 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright,  with  freedom's  holy  light;  protect  us 
by  Thy  might,  great  God,  our  King. 

40.  Certain  conditions  of  voice  naturally  respond  to 
definite  actions  of  mind.  When  we  give  exclamatory 
words  or  phrases,  or  those  that  stand  for  single  ideas 
when  these  ideas  are  vividly  realized,  effects  immedi- 
ately follow  in  body  and  voice.  How  many  of  such  con- 
ditions do  you  find? 

Arise!  and  away!  for  the  King  and  the  land; 

Farewell  to  the  couch  and  the  pillow: 
With  spear  in  the  rest,  and  with  rein  in  the  hand, 

Let  us  rush  on  the  foe  like  a  billow. 
From  "  Sir  Seville."  R.  S.  Hawker. 

Home!  home!  lead  home!     Oh  smiling  evening  star. 

"  HULLO  " 

Wen  you  see  a  man  in  woe, 
Walk  right  up  and  say  "  hullo!  " 
Say  "  hullo,"  an'  "  how  d'ye  do!  " 
"  How's  the  world  a-usin'  you?  " 
Slap  the  fellow  on  his  back, 
Bring  yer  han'  down  with  a  whack; 
Waltz  right  up,  an'  don't  go  slow, 
Grin  an'  shake  an'  say  "  hullo!  " 
Is  he  clothed  in  rags?     O  sho! 
Walk  right  up  an'  say  "  hullo!  " 
Rags  is  but  a  cotton  roll 
Jest  for  wrappin'  up  a  soul; 
An'  a  soul  is  worth  a  true 
Hale  an'  hearty  "  how  d'ye  do!  " 
Don't  wait  for  the  crowd  to  go; 
Walk  right  up  and  say  "  hullo!  " 

Several  of  these  have  already  been  indicated.  The  sympathetic  expansion 
and  elevation  of  the  body;  the  quick,  easy  taking  of  breath;  and  the  simulta- 
neous opening  of  the  tone  passage,  especially  the  passive  action  at  the  back  of 
the  tongue.  These  are  the  most  important.  They  should  come  together  as 
the  direct  effect  of  a  mental  action.  They  cannot  be  done  deliberately.  We 
cannot  pull  the  mouth  open  properly;  we  cannot  take  breath  for  tone  except  in 
direct  response  to  impressions.  All  these  actions  should  be  brought  together 
into  unity,  causing  a  simultaneous  blending  of  the  responses  in  the  body  which 
are  conditional  for  tone.  See  "  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp.  31-45. 

The  dramatic  interpretation  of  such  hearty  characters  is  a  great  help  to  the 
voice,  and  also  to  the  free  and  flexible  action  of  the  child's  mind.  Little  atten- 
tion should  be  given  to  the  dialect;  that  is  not  what  makes  the  heartiness  nor 
the  character. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  37 

Wen  big  vessels  meet,  they  say, 

They  saloot  an'  sail  away. 

Jest  the  same  are  you  an'  me, 

Lonesome  ships  upon  a  sea; 

Each  one  sailing  his  own  jog 

For  a  port  beyond  the  fog. 

Let  yer  speakin'-trumpet  blow, 

Lift  yer  horn  an'  cry  "  hullo!  " 

Say  "  hullo,"  an'  "  how  d'ye  dol  " 

Other  folks  are  good  as  you. 

Wen  ye  leave  yer  house  of  clay, 

Wanderin'  in  the  Far-Away, 

Wen  you  travel  through  the  strange 

Country  t'other  side  the  range, 

Then  the  souls  you've  cheered  will  know 

Who  ye  be,  an'  say  "  hullo!  " 

From  "  Back  Country  Poems,"  Copyright.         Sam  Walter  Foss,  1858-1911 
Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Co.     By  permission. 

On  Linden,  when  the  sun  was  low,  all  bloodless  lay  the  untrodden 
snow;  and  dark  as  winter  was  the  flow  of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly.  But 
Linden  saw  another  sight,  when  the  drum  beat  at  dead  of  night, 
commanding  fires  of  death  to  light  the  darkness  of  her  scenery.  By 
torch  and  trumpet  fast  arrayed,  each  horseman  drew  his  battle  blade, 
and  furious  every  charger  neighed  to  join  the  dreadful  revelry.  Then 
shook  the  hills  with  thunder  riven;  then  rushed  the  steed,  to  battle 
driven;  and  louder  than  the  bolts  of  Heaven  far  flashed  the  red 
artillery. 

But  redder  yet  that  fire  shall  glow  on  Linden's  hills  of  blood- 
stained snow;  and  darker  yet  shall  be  the  flow  of  Iser,  rolling  rapidly. 
'Tis  morn;  but  scarce  yon  level  sun  can  pierce  the  war-clouds,  rolling 
dun,  where  furious  Frank  and  fiery  Hun  shout  in  their  sulphurous 
canopy.  The  combat  deepens.  On,  ye  brave  who  rush  to  glory, 
or  the  grave!  Wave,  Munich,  all  thy  banners  wave,  and  charge 
with  all  thy  chivalry!  Ah,  few  shall  part,  where  many  meet!  The 
snow  shall  be  their  winding-sheet,  and  every  turf  beneath  their  feet 
shall  be  a  soldier's  sepulcher. 
"  Hohenlinden."  Thomas  Campbell. 

THE  KINGFISHER 

He  laughs  by  the  summer  stream 

Where  the  lilies  nod  and  dream, 
As  through  the  sheen  of  water  cool  and  clear 
He  sees  the  chub  and  sunfish  cutting  sheer. 

His  are  resplendent  eyes; 

His  mien  is  kingliwise; 

And  down  the  May  wind  rides  he  like  a  king, 
With  more  than  royal  purple  on  his  wing. 


38  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

His  palace  is  the  brake 

Where  the  rushes  shine  and  shake; 
His  music  is  the  murmur  of  the  stream, 
And  that  leaf-rustle  where  the  lilies  dream. 

Such  life  as  his  would  be 

A  more  than  heaven  to  me: 
All  sun,  all  bloom,  all  happy  weather, 
All  joys  bound  in  a  sheaf  together. 

No  wonder  he  laughs  so  loud! 

No  wonder  he  looks  so  proud! 
There  are  great  kings  would  give  their  royalty 
To  have  one  day  of  his  felicity! 

Maurice  Thompson. 

Ill 

HOW  WE  GIVE  INDIVIDUAL  IMPRESSIONS 

XIV.   ATTENTION   AND  PAUSE 

"  You  are  more  than  the  Earth, 

Though  you  are  such  a  dot; 
You  can  love  and  think 

And  the  Earth  cannot. 
From  "  The  Child's  World." 

41.  What  are  some  of  the  things  your  mind  and 
voice  must  do  when  you  read  as  naturally  as  you  talk? 
Why  are  pauses  necessary? 

(-J'/Y)        No  one  is  free  who  is  not  master  of  himself.  ^x 

William  Shakespeare. 

Part  I  is  the  study  of  the  action  of  the  mind  in  receiving  impressions;  Part 
II,  the  response  of  the  body  and  voice  to  the  actions  of  the  mind  as  a  normal 
element  in  education;  Part  III  discusses  the  direct  modulations  of  the  voice,  or 
the  natural  signs  of  thinking  and  feeling  expressed  through  the  voice.  Pause  is 
considered  first  because  it  is  the  direct  agent  of  attention.  Without  pause 
there  can  be  no  thinking.  The  teacher  can  devise  many  expedients  to  show  the 
difference  between  printed  and  vocal  expression.  See  "Foundations  of  Ex- 
pression," p.  9;  "  Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  11,  12.  These  simple  modu- 
lations must  not  be  studied  as  if  they  were  symbols;  they  are  simply  signs  and 
hints.  They  must  be  studied  in  direct  union  with  the  mental  action  that  causes 
them. 

Because  these  modulations  are  not  symbols,  but  natural  signs,  their  im- 
portance and  their  nature  may  be  overlooked.  On  account  of  their  direct  con- 
nection with  thinking  and  feeling  they  have  great  value  in  education.  They 
are  more  natural  and  immediate  than  words;  they  are  more  directly  associated 
with  experience;  they  are  the  direct  expression  of  those  instincts  and  feelings 
which  are  earliest  awakened.  Words  are  necessary  to  name  our  mental  images 
and  to  express  our  meaning,  but  voice  modulations  are  closer  to  feeling  and  the 
spirit  of  our  impressions. 


FOR     ORAL  ENGLISH                           39 

MINNIE  AND   WINNIE 

Minnie  and  Winnie  Echo  on  echo 

Slept  in  a  shell.  Dies  to  the  moon. 

Sleep,  little  ladies!    .  Two  bright  stars 

And  they  slept  well.  peeped  jnto  ^  ^^ 

Pink  was  the  shell  within,  "  What  are  they  dreaming  of? 

Silver  without;  Who  can  tell?  " 


.  f  Cat  SCa  Started  a  green  linnet, 

Wandered  about.  Out  of  the  croft; 

Sleep,  little  ladies!  Wake,  little  ladies! 

Wake  not  soon!  The  sun  is  aloft. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

42.  What  are  the  chief  differences  to  be  noted  if  you 
first  give  a  passage  carelessly,  and  then  try  to  make  the 
meaning  clear  to  someone  else?     When  does  a  pause 
help  your  reading  to  be  natural  and  when  does  it  make  it 
stilted  or  disconnected? 

Do  you  know  what  fairy  palaces  you  may  build  of  good  thoughts? 

John  Ruskin. 

Pleasure  comes  through  toil:  when  one  gets  to  love  his  work,  his 
life  is  a  happy  one. 

John  Ruskin. 

43.  Read  a  sentence  pausing  to  receive  each  suc- 
cessive impression  or  pausing  to  let  your  listeners  re- 
ceive   one.     What    are    the    chief   differences    between 
these  two  kinds  of  pauses? 

"  We  shall  find  the  Grail  when  we  can  use  it." 

Young. 

When  in  earnest  we  pause  and  give  one  idea  at  a  time;  several  words  gather 
into  one  group  or  phrase,  because  they  stand  for  one  act  of  attention,  one  picture 
in  the  mind.  There  can  be  no  rule  for  the  number  or  location  of  pauses.  All 
depends  on  how  we  think.  We  may  pause  twice  as  often  because  twice  as 
earnest;  because  it  is  twice  as  necessary  to  be  clear  on  account  of  the  lack 
of  familiarity  of  the  auditor  with  the  subject.  There  are  innumerable  kinds  of 
pauses,  but  all  of  them  are  mental.  We  must  not  pause  to  breathe.  If  we 
do  the  result  is  bad.  We  pause  to  receive  an  impression,  and  breath  is  part  of 
that  impression.  See  "  Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  62-67;  "  Foundations 
of  Expression,"  pp.  24-27. 

The  teacher  may  employ  many  ways  of  testing  the  readiness  of  the  eye  to 
grasp  ideas.  Turn  to  some  paragraph  far  ahead,  and  have  all  the  pupils  read 
it,  beginning  at  the  same  time.  Then  call  for  the  closing  of  the  book  and  ask 
individuals  to  tell  the  substance  of  the  paragraph  in  their  own  words.  Some- 
times take  a  shorter  passage  and  ask  for  the  words  themselves.  The  importance 


40  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere,  by  the  dusty  road- 
side, on  the  sunny  hillside,  close  by  the  noisy  brook,  in  every  shady 
nook,  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere.  Here  I  come  creeping, 
creeping  everywhere,  all  around  the  open  door  where  sit  the  aged 
poor,  here  where  the  children  play  in  the  bright  merry  May  I  come 
creeping,  creeping  everywhere. 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere.  In  the  noisy  city 
street  my  pleasant  face  you'll  meet,  cheering  the  sick  at  heart,  toil- 
ing his  busy  part,  silently  creeping,  creeping  everywhere.  Here  I 
come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere.  You  cannot  see  me  coming; 
you  hear  my  low  sweet  humming,  for  in  the  starry  night  and  the  glad 
morning  light,  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere.  .  .  . 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere.  When  you're  num- 
bered with  the  dead  in  your  still  and  narrow  bed,  in  the  happy  spring 
I'll  come  and  deck  your  silent  home,  creeping  silently,  creeping 
everywhere. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 

The  Minstrel  was  infirm  and  old; 

His  wither'd  cheek,  and  tresses  gray, 

Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day; 

The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 

Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 

The  last  of  all  the  Bards  was  he, 

Who  sung  of  Border  chivalry; 

For,  welladay!  their  date  was  fled, 

His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead; 

And  he,  neglected  and  oppress'd, 

Wish'd  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest. 

No  more  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 

He  caroll'd,  light  as  lark  at  morn; 

No  longer  courted  and  caress'd, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 

He  pour'd,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay: 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone; 

A  stranger  filled  the  Stuarts'  throne; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  call'd  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorn'd  and  poor, 

He  begg'd  his  bread  from  door  to  door, 

And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 

The  harp  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 
From  "  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  Walter  Scott. 

of  this  training  of  the  eye  cannot  be  overestimated,  and  yet  it  is  almost  wholly 
neglected.  I  have  found  college  graduates  who  could  not  read  well  because 
the  function  of  the  eye  in  reading  had  never  received  any  attention.  See  Edu- 
cation of  the  Eye,  "  Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  69-72.  Other  problems 
for  the  action  of  the  eye  are  to  be  found  in  this  book. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  41 

Be  such  a  man,  live  such  a  life,  that  if  every  man  were  such  as 
you,  and  every  life  a  life  like  yours,  this  earth  would  be  a  paradise. 

Phillips  Brooks. 

XV.    SILENT   READING   AND   READING   ALOUD 

To  read  the  sense  the  woods  impart 
You  must  bring  the  throbbing  heart. 
From  "  The  Miracle."  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

44.  How  quickly  can  you  read  silently  some  fable  in 
this  book?     Shut  the  book  and  test  your  memory  by 
giving  it  in  your  own  words. 

THE  DOG  IN  THE   MANGER 

A  dog  was  lying  on  the  hay  in  a  manger  when  a  horse  came  to 
its  stall  to  eat.  The  dog  growled  and  would  not  let  the  horse  have 
a  mouthful. 

"  You  are  a  selfish  dog,"  said  the  horse.  "  You  cannot  eat  the 
hay  yourself  and  you  will  not  let  any  one  else  do  so." 

45.  How  quickly  can  you  grasp  the  words  on  a  sign- 
board or  a  blackboard?     How  many  words  on  a  printed 
page  can  you  take  at  one  glance? 

Attention  is  the  mother  of  memory. 

Samuel  Johnson. 

The  bluebird  knows  it  is  April,  and  soars  toward  the  sun  and 
sings.  Eben  Eugene  Rexford. 

There  are  men  who  complain  that  roses  have  thorns. 
They  should  be  grateful  to  know  that  thorns  have  roses. 

Max  O'Rell. 

A  traveler  through  a  dusty  road  strewed  acorns  on  the  lea;  and 
one  took  root  and  sprouted  up,  and  grew  into  a  tree.  Love  sought 
its  shade  at  evening  time,  to  breathe  its  early  vows;  and  Age  was 
pleased,  in  heats  of  noon,  to  bask  beneath  its  boughs.  The  dormouse 

The  first  kind  of  pause  chiefly  concerns  the  reader;  it  expresses  the  fact  that 
he  is  receiving  an  impression.  The  second  kind  of  pause,  which  is  called  the 
emphatic  pause,  concerns  more  the  listener;  it  is  introduced  in  the  middle  of  a 
phrase  immediately  after  the  emphatic  word,  and  is  the  staying  of  attention  by 
the  reader  until  his  listener  has  perceived  the  point  or  the  importance  of  the 
thought.  See  "  Foundations  of  Expression,"  pp.  118-119. 

Silent  reading  may  be  superficial.  One  should  be  trained  to  genuine  thinking 
in  silent  reading.  We  find  frequently  that  we  have  skimmed  over  words  and 
have  not  genuinely  focused  attjntioa  sufficiently  to  allow  the  meaning  to  dawn 
upon  us.  Superficial  rapidity  is  an  error  in  both  forms  of  reading.  The  think- 
ing in  both  reading  aloud  and  speaking  is  very  similar,  especially  the  rhythmic 
succession  of  one  concentration  of  attention  after  another. 


42  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

loved  its  dangling  twigs,  the  birds  sweet  music  bore;  it  stood  a  glory 
in  its  place,  a  blessing  evermore. 

A  little  spring  had  lost  its  way  amid  the  grass  and  fern;  a  passing 
stranger  scooped  a  well,  where  weary  men  might  turn.  He  walled 
it  in,  and  hung  with  care  a  ladle  at  the  brink;  he  thought  not  of  the 
deed  he  did,  but  judged  that  Toil  might  drink.  He  passed  again  — 
and  lo!  the  well,  by  summers  never  dried,  had  cooled  ten  thousand 
parching  tongues,  and  saved  a  life  beside. 

A  dreamer  dropped  a  random  thought;  'twas  old  —  and  yet 
'twas  new;  a  simple  fancy  of  the  brain,  but  strong  in  being  true.  It 
shone  upon  a  genial  mind,  and  lo !  its  light  became  a  lamp  of  life,  a 
beacon  ray,  a  monitory  flame.  The  thought  was  small  —  its  issue 
great,  a  watch-fire  on  the  hill.  It  sheds  its  radiance  far  adown,  and 
cheers  the  valley  still. 

A  nameless  man,  amid  a  crowd  that  thronged  the  daily  mart,  let 
fall  a  word  of  hope  and  love,  unstudied  from  the  heart.  A  whisper 
on  the  tumult  thrown,  a  transitory  breath,  it  raised  a  brother  from 
the  dust;  it  saved  a  soul  from  death. 

O  germ!  O  fount!  O  word  of  love!  O  thought  at  random  cast! 
Ye  were  but  little  at  the  first,  but  mighty  at  the  last. 

SONG 

The  year's  at  the  spring, 
And  day's  at  the  morn; 
Morning's  at  seven; 

The  hill-side's  dew  pearled; 
The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God's  in  His  heaven  — 

All's  right  with  the  world. 
From  "  Pippa  Passes."  Robert  Browning. 

46.  Which  is  more  rapid,  silent  reading  or  reading 
aloud?  Why? 

Where  fields  lie  white  beneath  the  snow 

The  grasses  sleep. 

Here  cold  wild  winds  of  winter  blow, 
Yet  soon  will  April  raindrops  weep 
And  happy  sea-born  breezes  go 
Singing  landward,  soft  and  low, 
Where  fields  lie  white  beneath  the  snow. 
Still  listening  for  the  call  they  know 

Life's  mysteries  are. 
Here  by  the  water's  ebb  and  flow, 
Yet,  soon  each  grass  blade  scimitar 
Shall  taper,  slim,  toward  skies  that  glow, 
In  joyance  waving  to  and  fro, 
Where  fields  lie  white  beneath  the  snow. 
From  "  Town  and  Country."  Elsie  Brainerd  Peck. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  43 

47.  In  reading  aloud,  what  do  you  do  that  is  not  done 
when  reading  silently?     What  must  the  eye  do  in  both 
silent  reading  and  reading  aloud? 

THE  FOUNTAIN 

Into  the  sunshine,  Glad  of  all  weathers; 

Full  of  the  light,  Still  seeming  best, 

Leaping  and  flashing  Upward  or  downward, 

From  morn  till  night!  Motion  thy  rest;  — 

Into  the  moonlight,  Full  of  a  nature 

Whiter  than  snow,  Nothing  can  tame, 

Waving  so  flower-like  Changed  every  moment 

When  the  winds  blow!  Ever  the  same;  — 

Into  the  starlight  Ceaseless  aspiring, 
Rushing  in  spray,  Ceaseless  content, 

Happy  at  midnight,  Darkness  or  sunshine 
Happy  by  day;  Thy  element;  — 

Ever  in  motion,  Glorious  fountain! 

Blithesome  and  cheery,  Let  my  heart  be 

Still  climbing  heavenward  Fresh,  changeful,  constant, 

Never  aweary;  —  Upward,  like  thee! 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

48.  Give  some  reasons  for  pauses  in  reading  aloud? 
What  are  some  of  the  things  you  do  during  the  pauses? 

Small  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts; 

Of  friends,  however  humble,  scorn  not  one; 
The  daisy,  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts, 

Protects  the  lingering  dewdrop  from  the  sun. 

William  Wordsworth. 

49.  Why  is  it  so  much  easier  to  read  silently?     Why 
can  you  read  difficult  passages  more  easily  silently  than 
aloud? 

In  the  suburbs,  in  the  town, 

On  the  railway,  in  the  square, 
Came  a  beam  of  goodness  down 

Doubling  daylight  everywhere: 
Peace  now  each  for  malice  takes 

Beauty  for  his  sinful  deeds, 
For  the  angel  Hope  aye  makes 

Him  an  angel  whom  she  leads. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Every  school  should,  if  possible,  have  a  library  or  access  to  one,  so  that  at- 
tention may  be  given  by  the  teacher  to  silent  reading.  Silent  reading  should 
be  of  more  advanced  phases  of  literature;  reading  aloud,  being  expression  of 
personal  assimilation,  must  not  be  based  upon  difficult  material. 


LITTLE     CLASSICS 

FORTUNE  AND  THE  BEGGAR 

s 

Fortune  once  appeared  to  a  beggar  who  carried  a  ragged  old 
wallet  and  grumbled  incessantly  over  his  hard  lot. 

"  Look  you,"  said  Fortune.  "  I  have  long  desired  to  help  you. 
Open  your  wallet  and  I  will  fill  it  with  ducats.  You  shall  have  all  it 
will  hold  on  one  condition  only:  all  that  fall  into  the  wallet  shall  be 
gold;  but  should  one  fall  outside,  all  will  turn  into  dust.  Your 
wallet  is  old:  don't  overload  it." 

The  overjoyed  beggar  opened  his  wallet  and  the  ducats  fell  in  a 
golden  stream,  soon  making  the  wallet  heavy.  "  That  is  enough," 
said  Fortune;  "  stop  while  you  are  safe;  the  wallet  is  sure  to  burst." 

But  the  greedy  beggar,  against  repeated  warnings,  insisted  upon 
having  more,  and  still  more,  until  the  wallet  burst,  the  treasure 
turned  to  dust  —  and  Fortune  disappeared,  leaving  the  beggar  with 
his  wallet  as  empty  as  before. 

Russian  Fable. 

XVI.   WORDS  AND  THE  EYE 

God  who  created  me 

Nimble  and  light  of  limb, 
In  three  elements  free, 

To  run,  to  ride,  to  swim: 
Not  when  the  sense  is  dim, 

But  now  from  the  heart  of  joy, 
I  would  remember  Him: 

Take  the  thanks  of  a  boy. 
"  A  Boy's  Prayer."  Henry  Charles  Beeching. 

50.  Can  you  grasp  quickly,  with  your  eye,  one  phrase 
at  a  time,  making  the  eye  obey  your  attention,  or  your 
act  of  thinking  in  reading? 

The  two  noblest  things  are  sweetness  and  light. 

Dean  Swift. 
THE  KID  AND  THE   WOLF 

A  kid  once  stood  on  the  flat  roof  of  a  house  and  saw  a  wolf  pass- 
ing along  the  road  below.  "  Ha  ha!  old  growler,"  he  said,  "  I  dare 
you  to  come  up  here.  I  would  butt  you  off  the  roof." 

"  You  are  not  brave,"  said  the  wolf,  looking  up.  "  It  is  only 
the  high  and  safe  roof." 

51.  What  are  the  chief  dangers  in  the  use  of  the  eye 
in  reading  aloud,  and  how  can  they  be  corrected? 

The  eye  acts  so  quickly  that  it  may  go  on  and  on,  and  the  mind  not  keep 
up  with  it.  The  eye  must  stop  in  direct  obedience  to  the  thinking  when  atten- 
tion has  received  the  words  which  give  the  complete  image  or  impression. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  45 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk,  doth  make  man  better  be; 

Or  standing  long  an  oak,  three  hundred  year, 

To  fall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  sere; 

A  lily  of  a  day 

Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  fall  and  die  that  night  — 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  light. 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be. 

Ben  Jonson. 

XVII.   MENTAL   IMAGES  AND  PHRASES 

April  cold  with  dripping  rain 
Willows  and  lilacs  brings  again. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

52.  In  conversation  why  do  we  speak  words  in 
groups?  Read  this  passage,  grouping  the  words  as 
naturally  as  you  do  in  talking.  Study  and  increase  the 
action  of  the  mind  that  causes  this  grouping. 

THE   SNOWBIRD 

In  the  rosy  light  trills  the  gay  swallow, 
The  thrush,  in  the  roses  below; 
The  meadow-lark  sings  in  the  meadow, 
But  the  snowbird  sings  in  the  snow. 

Ah  me! 

Chickadee! 

The  snowbird  sings  in  the  snow! 
The  blue  martin  trills  in  the  gable, 
The  wren,  in  the  gourd  below; 
In  the  elm  flutes  the  golden  robin, 
But  the  snowbird  sings  in  the  snow. 

Ah  me! 

Chickadee! 

The  snowbird  sings  in  the  snow! 
High  wheels  the  gray  wing  of  the  osprev, 
The  wing  of  the  sparrow  drops  low; 
In  the  mist  dips  the  wing  of  the  robin, 
And  the  snowbird's  wing  in  the  snow. 

Ah  me! 

Chickadee! 
The  snowbird  sings  in  the  snow. 

The  rhythmic  action  of  the  eye  in  response  to  the  rhythm  of  thinking  has 
never,  to  my  mind,  received  adequate  attention  in  the  teaching  of  reading. 
See  "  Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  69-71. 


46  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

I  love  the  high  heart  of  the  osprey, 
The  meek  heart  of  the  thrush  below, 
The  heart  of  the  lark  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  snowbird's  heart  in  the  snow. 

But  dearest  to  me, 

Chickadee!     Chickadee! 
Is  that  true  little  heart  in  the  snow. 

Hezekiah  Butterworth,  1837-1905. 

53.  Why  can  you  not  phrase  by  grammatical  rules? 
Why  must  you  center  attention  in  the  thought  in  order 
to  read  aloud? 

THE  FLY 
How  large  unto  the  tiny  fly 

Must  little  things  appear!  — 
A  rosebud  like  a  feather  bed, 

Its  prickle  like  a  spear; 

A  dewdrop  like  a  looking-glass, 

A  hair  like  golden  wire; 
The  smallest  grain  of  mustard-seed 

As  fierce  as  coals  of  fire; 

A  loaf  of  bread,  a  lofty  hill; 

A  wasp,  a  cruel  leopard; 
And  specks  of  salt,  as  bright  to  see 
As  lambkins  to  a  shepherd. 

Walter  Ramal. 
A  BUILDER'S  LESSON 

"  How  shall  I  a  habit  break?  " 

As  you  did  that  habit  make. 

As  you  gathered,  you  must  lose; 

As  you  yielded,  now  refuse. 

Thread  by  thread  the  strands  we  twist 

Till  they  bind  us,  neck  and  wrist; 

Thread  by  thread  the  patient  hand 

Must  untwine,  ere  free  we  stand. 

As  we  builded,  stone  by  stone, 

We  must  toil,  unhelped,  alone, 

Till  the  wall  is  overthrown. 

But  remember,  as  we  try, 
Lighter  every  test  goes  by; 
Wading  in,  the  stream  grows  deep 
Toward  the  center's  downward  sweep; 
Backward  turn,  each  step  ashore 
Shallower  is  than  before. 

Phrasing  has  nearly  always  been  taught  mechanically,  but  no  mechanical 
rule  will  furnish  the  least  assistance.     The  ideas  in  the  mind  in  their  dominion 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  47 

Ah,  the  precious  years  we  waste 
Levelling  what  we  raised  in  haste: 
Doing  what  must  be  undone 
Ere  content  or  love  be  won! 
First,  across  the  gulf  we  cast 
Kite-born  threads,  till  lines  are  passed, 
And  habit  builds  the  bridge  at  last! 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly. 

Said  a  boy  to  his  teacher  one  day: 

"  Wright  has  not  written  rite  right,  I  say." 

And  the  teacher  replied, 

As  the  blunder  she  eyed: 

"  Right!  —  Wright,  write  rite  right,  right  away!  " 
A  Wrong  Righted."  J.  Warren  Merrill. 


XVIII.   PHRASE   ACCENT 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet,  take 
That  for  an  hermitage. 
"  To  Althea,  from  Prison."  Lovelace. 


54.  Do  you  make  any  difference  in  speaking  the  word 
"  independent  "  and  the  phrase  "  in  the  tree  top?  " 
Can  you  increase  the  accent  on  the  phrase  in  a  way  to 
justify  long  pauses  in  giving  the  following?  What  differ- 
ence in  your  thinking  calls  for  increase  of  the  phrase 
accent? 

Beautiful  hands  are  those  that  do 
Work  that  is  earnest  and  brave  and  true, 
Moment  by  moment  the  long  day  through. 

Henry  Wadsworth^Longfellow. 


over  words  are  always  the  determining  factor.  See  "  Lessons  in  Vocal  Expres- 
sion," pp.  73-79;  "Foundations  of  Expression,"  pp.  27,  31. 

The  phrase  accent,  or  touch,  is  the  true  expression  of  the  concentration  of 
the  mind.  The  phrase  accent  in  union  with  pause  constitutes  phrasing.  With- 
out phrase  accent  the  words  of  a  phrase  would  never  be  gathered  into  a  proper 
group.  They  would  not  express  one  image. 

The  student  will  not  at  first  realize  any  difference  between  phrase  accent 
and  verbal  accent;  and  it  is  not  necessary  that  he  should.  The  minds  of  young 
students  should  not  be  too  much  troubled  with  these  things.  The  point  is 
Chat  they  shall  observe  that  words  are  accented  by  the  way  the  reader  thinks; 


48  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

55.  Give  some  important  passage  letting  phrase 
accent  and  pause  follow  each  other  naturally.  Notice 
that  the  natural  rhythm  of  ideas  and  words  is  thus 
united. 

Calm  Soul  of  all  things!  make  it  mine 
To  feel,  amid  the  city's  jar, 
That  there  abides  a  peace  of  thine, 
Man  did  not  make,  and  cannot  mar. 
The  will  to  neither  strive  nor  cry, 
The  power  to  feel  with  others,  give. 
Calm,  calm  me  more;   nor  let  me  die 
Before  I  have  begun  to  live. 

Matthew  Arnold. 

What  is  it  to  be  a  gentleman?  It  is  to  be  honest,  to  be  gentle, 
to  be  generous,  to  be  brave,  to  be  wise;  and,  possessing  all  these 
qualities,  to  exercise  them  in  the  most  graceful  outward  manner. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray. 


56.  What  conditions  of  thinking  and  of  feeling  tend 
to  increase  the  vigor  of  the  phrase  accent? 

I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute; 
From  the  center  all  round  to  the  sea, 

I  am  Lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 
O  solitude!  where  are  the  charms 

That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 

Than  to  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 
From  "  Alexander  Selkirk."  William  Cowper. 

It  is  the  mind  that  makes  the  man,  and  our  vigor  is  in  our  im- 
mortal soul. 

Ovid. 

Green  be  the  turf  above  thee,  friend  of  my  better  days; 
None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee;  nor  named  thee  but  to  praise. 
On  the  Death  of  Joseph  R.  Drake.  Fitz-Greene  Halleck. 

where  the  attention  is  fixed  there  is  an  accent.  In  addition  to  this,  words 
are  accented  according  to  conventional  agreement.  "  An  independent  boy  " 
would  have  the  phrase  accent  on  "  boy,"  but  the  word  "  independent  "  would 
have  its  verbal  accent  just  the  same. 

Increase  of  attention,  or  desire  to  make  a  point  more  interesting  or  clear, 
and  all  increase  of  dignity  and  of  earnestness  or  excitement,  especially  con- 
trolled excitement  or  intensity,  will  cause  increase  in  the  vigor  of  the  phrase 
accent.  See  "  Foundations  of  Expression,"  pp.  31-41. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH 

Have  you  had  a  kindness  shown? 

Pass  it  on. 
'Twas  not  given  for  you  alone  — 

Pass  it  on. 

Let  it  travel  down  the  years, 
Let  it  wipe  another's  tears, 
Till  in  heaven  the  deed  appears  — 

Pass  it  on. 

THE  BLESSING   OF  THE  BRUCE 

"  De  Bruce!     I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head, 

And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 

To  him  who  burns  to  shed  thy  gore;  — 

But,  like  the  Midianite  of  old, 

Who  stood  on  Zophim,  heaven-controlled, 

I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  not  be  repressed. 

It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins, 

It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains!  — 

De  Bruce,  thy  sacrilegious  blow 

Hath  at  God's  altar  slain  thy  foe: 

O'ermastered  yet  by  high  behest, 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  blessed!  "  . 

He  spoke,  and  o'er  the  astonish'd  throng 

Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 

Again  that  light  has  fired  his  eye, 

Again  his  form  swells  bold  and  high, 

The  broken  voice  of  age  is  gone, 

'Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone:  — 

"  Thrice  vanquish'd  on  the  battle-plain, 

Thy  followers  slaughter'd,  fled,  or  ta'en, 

A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled, 

Disowned,  deserted  and  distress'd, 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd! 

Blessed  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 

Under  the  mantle  as  the  shield, 

Avenger  of  thy  country's  shame, 

Restorer  of  her  injured  fame, 

Bless'd  in  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword, 

De  Bruce,  fair  Scotland's  rightful  Lord, 

Blessed  in  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 

What  lengthen'd  honors  wait  thy  name! 

In  distant  ages,  sire  to  son 

Shall  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won, 

And  teach  his  infants,  in  the  use 

Of  earliest  speech,  to  falter  Bruce. 


50  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Go,  then,  triumphant!  sweep  along 
Thy  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song! 
The  Power,  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast, 
Hath  bless'd  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd !  — 
Enough  —  my  short-lived  strength  decays, 
And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze.  — 
Heaven  hath  our  destined  purpose  broke, 
Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke; 
Brethren,  our  errand  here  is  o'er, 
Our  task  discharg'd.  —  Unmoor,  unmoor!  " 
His  priests  received  the  exhausted  Monk, 
As  breathless  in  their  arms  he  sunk. 
Punctual  his  orders  to  obey, 
The  train  refused  all  longer  stay, 
Embarked,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away. 
From  "  The  Lord  of  the  Isles."  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


WHAT  HAVE  WE  DONE  TO-DAY? 

We  shall  do  so  much  in  the  years  to  come, 

But  what  have  we  done  to-day? 
We  shall  give  our  gold  in  a  princely  sum, 

But  what  did  we  give  to-day? 
We  shall  lift  the  heart  and  dry  the  tear, 
We  shall  plant  a  hope  in  the  place  of  fear, 
We  shall  speak  the  words  of  love  and  cheer, 

But  what  did  we  speak  to-day? 

We  shall  be  so  kind  in  the  after  while, 

But  what  have  we  been  to-day? 
We  shall  bring  each  lonely  life  a  smile, 

But  what  have  we  brought  to-day? 
We  shall  give  to  truth  a  grander  birth, 
And  to  steadfast  faith  a  deeper  worth, 
We  shall  feed  the  hungering  souls  of  earth, 

But  whom  have  we  fed  to-day? 

We  shall  reap  such  joys  in  the  by  and  by, 

But  what  have  we  sown  to-day? 
We  shall  build  us  mansions  in  the  sky, 

But  what  have  we  built  to-day? 
'Tis  sweet  in  idle  dreams  to  bask, 

iut  here  and  now  do  we  do  our  task? 
Yes,  this  is  the  thing  our  souls  must  ask, 

"  What  have  we  done  to-day?  " 

From  "  In  Merry  Mood."     Forbes  and  Company, 

Chicago,  Publishers.     By  permission.  Nixon  Waterman. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  51 


XIX.   CHANGE  OF   IDEAS  AND  OF  PITCH 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies, 
Let  them  live  upon  their  praises; 
Long  as  there's  a  sun  that  sets, 
Primroses  will  have  their  glory; 
Long  as  there  are  violets, 
They  will  have  a  place  in  story: 
There's  a  flower  that  shall  be  mine, 
'Tis  the  little  Celandine. 
"  To  the  Small  Celandine."  William  Wordsworth. 

57.  What  is  the  effect  of  giving  the  first  line  of  the 
foregoing  as  one  picture  and  then  as  four?     If  you  dis- 
tinguish separately  and  definitely  all  the  flowers  men- 
tioned in  the  eight  lines,  what  is  the  effect  upon  the 
pitch  of  the  voice? 

In  rose  time  or  in  berry  time, 

When  ripe  seeds  fall  or  buds  peep  out, 

When  green  the  grass  or  white  the  rime, 
There's  something  to  be  glad  about. 

Lucy  Larcom. 

58.  If  you  first  give  word  after  word  as  if  announcing 
them  for  someone  to  spell,  and  then  read  the  passage 
naturally,  what  are  some  of  the  chief  differences? 

What  does  it  mean  when  the  bluebird  comes 
And  builds  its  nest,  singing  sweet  and  clear? 

When  violets  peep  through  the  blades  of  grass? 

These  are  the  signs  that  spring  is  here. 
"  The  Seasons."  George  Cooper. 

59.  Read  some  passage,  not  only  letting  each  im- 
pression stand  out  by  increasing  the  pause  and  phrase 
accents,    but   also   show   the   difference   between    each 
picture  and  the  others.     How  do  you  show  this  by  your 
voice? 

The  teacher  should  illustrate  the  foregoing  modulations  —  pause  and  phrase 
accent.  Both  express  attention.  The  pause  shows  attention,  or  the  receiving 
of  an  impression;  the  phrase  accent  or  touch  asserts  it  or  reveals  it.  Then  as 
we  pass  from  one  center  of  attention  to  another,  we  find  a  change  of  pitch  in 
proportion  to  the  discriminative  action  of  the  mind. 


52  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

AN  AUTUMN   RIDDLE 

They  are  seen  on  the  trees, 

They  are  seen  on  the  ground. 
They  are  seen  in  the  air, 

Whirling  softly  around; 
They  sing  rustling  songs 

As  our  footsteps  they  hear, 
And  their  name  is  well  known, 

For  they  come  every  year. 

60.  Think  and  feel  all  these  things  about  the  pop- 
corn man  just  as  the  boy  would,  and  speak  with  his 
variety  of  pitch  and  movement.  •  Every  word  must  be 
spoken  as  h^  would  speak  it. 

THE   POP-CORN   MAN 

There's  a  queer  little  man  lives  down  the  street 
Where  two  of  the  broadest  highways  meet, 
In  a  queer  little  house  that's  half  of  it  glass, 
With  windows  open  to  all  who  pass, 
And  a  low  little  roof  that's  nearly  flat, 
And  a  chimney  as  black  as  Papa's  best  hat. 
Oh,  the  house  is  built  on  this  funny  plan 
Because  it's  the  home  of  the  pop-corn  man! 

How  does  he  sleep,  if  he  sleeps  at  all? 

He  must  roll  up  like  a  rubber  ball, 

Or  like  a  squirrel,  and  store  himself 

All  huddly-cuddly  under  the  shelf. 

If  he  wanted  to  stretch  he'd  scarce  have  space 

In  his  bare  little,  spare  little,  square  little  place. 

He  seems  like  a  rat  cooped  up  in  a  can, 

This  brisk  little,  frisk  little  pop-corn  man! 

I  know  he  is  wise  by  the  way  he  looks, 

For  he's  just  like  the  men  I've  seen  in  books,^ 

With  his  hair  worn  off,  and  his  squinty  eyes, 

And  his  wrinkles,  too,  —  oh,  I  know  he's  wise  I 

And  then  just  think  of  the  way  he  makes 

The  corn  all  jump  into  snowy  flakes, 

With  a  "  pop!  pop!  pop!  "  in  his  covered  pan, 

This  queer  little,  dear  little  pop-corn  man! 

From  "  A  Boy's  Book  of  Rhyme."     Copyright,        Clinton  Scollard,  1860-  • 
G.  W.  Browning,  Clinton,  N.  Y.     By  permission. 

Observe  that  "  pop,  pop,  pop,"  demands  no  change  of  pitch.  You  pass 
from  one  pop  to  another,  simply  reproducing  the  sound  the  boy  hears.  The 
idea  he  is  emphasizing  is  the  continuity  or  continuance  of  the  operation,  and 
there  would  be  a  tendency  to  give  the  words  all  on  one  pitch. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  53 

There  is  no  rhyme  that  is  half  so  sweet 

As  the  song  of  the  wind  in  the  rippling  wheat; 

There  is  no  meter  that's  half  so  fine 

As  the  lilt  of  the  brook  under  rock  and  vine; 

And  the  loveliest  lyric  I  ever  heard 

Was  the  wildwood  strain  of  a  forest  bird. 

Madison  Cawein. 
t 

The  breaking  waves  dash'd  high  on  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
and  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky  their  giant  branches  toss'd;  and 
the  heavy  night  hung  dark  the  hills  and  waters  o'er,  when  a  band  of 
exiles  moor'd  their  bark  on  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes,  they,  the  true-hearted,  came;  not 
with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums,  and  the  trumpet  that  sings  of 
fame;  not  as  the  flying  come,  in  silence  and  in  fear;  —  they  shook 
the  depths  of  the  desert  gloom  with  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer. 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang,  and  the  stars  heard  and  the  sea; 
and  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang  to  the  anthem  of  the 
free!  the  ocean  eagle  soar'd  from  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam; 
and  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roar'd  —  this  was  their  welcome 
home! 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair  amidst  that  pilgrim  band;  — 
why  had  they  come  to  wither  there,  away  from  their  childhood's 
land?  There  was  woman's  fearless  eye,  lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth; 
there  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high,  and  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar?  —  bright  jewels  of  the  mine?  the 
wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war?  —  they  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine ! 
ay,  call  it  holy  ground,  the  soil  where  first  they  trod.  They  have  left 
unstain'd  what  there  they  found  —  freedom  to  worship  God. 


XX.   INDIVIDUALIZING    IDEAS,    AND    PRIMARY    VOICE 
MODULATIONS 

The  brightest  hour  of  unborn  Spring 
Through  the  Winter  wandering, 
Found,  it  seems,  the  blessed  Morn 
To  cold  February  born; 
Bending  from  Heaven,  in  azure  mirth, 
It  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  Earth, 
And  smiled  upon  the  silent  sea, 
And  bade  the  frozen  streams  be  free, 
And  waked  to  music  all  their  fountains, 
And  breathed  upon  the  frozen  mountains, 
And  like  a  prophetess  of  May 
Strewed  flowers  upon  the  barren  way.  .  .  . 
From  "  The  Invitation."  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


54  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

61.  Why  are  pause  and  phrase  accent  and  change  of 
pitch  so  necessary  to  each  other?     Read  a  passage  with 
only  pause,  then  with  only  phrase  accent,  next  with 
only  change  of  pitch,  and  observe  the  chaotic  result. 
Then  read  it  with  their  spontaneous  cooperation  and 
observe  how  natural  are  these  modulations.     They  are 
but  signs  of  the  process  of  your  thinking. 

Politeness  is  to  do  and  say 

The  kindest  thing  in  the  kindest  way. 

Behold  the  bird,  untrained,  untaught, 

What  music  from  its  throat  is  flung  — 
E'en  so,  the  song  by  you  unsought 

Will  fall  in  sweetness  from  your  tongue. 
If  song  within  your  breast  is  born, 

Not  all  the  strife  of  street  or  mart, 
Nor  cold  neglect  nor  smile  of  scorn 

Can  drive  its  magic  from  your  heart. 
Though  years  that  come  and  years  that  go 

Their  burdens  to  your  soul  may  bring, 
Through  all  the  work,  through  all  the  woe, 

The  singer  cannot  help  but  sing! 

From  "  The  Singer,"  in  "  A  Round  of  Rimes."        Denis  Aloysius  McCarthy. 
By  permission. 

62.  What  are  the  chief  causes  of  naturalness,  and 
what  are  its  chief  signs? 

THE   OTHER  SIDE   OF  THE   SK! 

A  pool  in  a  garden  green, 

And  the  sky  hung  over  all; 
Down  to  the  water  we  lean  — 

What  if  I  let  you  fall? 

A  little  splash  and  a  cry, 

A  little  gap  in  the  blue, 
And  you'd  fall  right  into  the  sky  — 

Into  the  sky  —  and  through. 

We  are  natural  in  proportion  as  we  genuinely  give  one  idea  at  a  time.  We 
think  naturally,  in  general  talk  naturally,  but  if  we  read  words  without  think, 
ing  we  are  sure  to  be  unnatural.  The  question  in  No.  63,  however,  refers  more 
to  the  voice  modulations  —  pause,  phrase  accent  or  touch,  change  of  pitch,  and, 
as  we  shall  find  later,  inflexion.  The  sudden  variations  of  pitch  in  conversa- 
tion and  the  continual  pausing  are  the  two  chief  signs  of  naturalness.  The 
teacher  must  continually  show  the  comparison  by  using  dialogues  and  simple 
conversation  on  the  same  subject  the  pupils  are  reading  about,  in  order  that  the 
feeling  of  naturalness  may  be  awakened  and  the  monotonous  and  drawling 
methods  of  reading  avoided. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  55 

What  do  you  think  they'd  think? 

How  do  you  think  they'd  greet 
A  little  wet  baby  in  pink 

Tumbling  down  at  their  feet? 

I  wonder  if  they'd  be  shy, 

Those  folk  of  the  Far  Away: 
On  the  other  side  of  the  Sky, 

Do  you  think  you'd  be  asked  to  stay? 

I  think  they  would  say  —  "  No,  no  " 

(Peeping  down  through  a  crack), 
"  For  they  seem  to  want  her  below, 

And  so  we  must  send  her  back." 

W.  Graham  Robertson. 

IV 

IMPRESSIONS  AND  THEIR  CONNECTION 

XXI.   DIRECTION  OF  ATTENTION  AND   INFLEXION 

You  have  two  ears  and  but  one  mouth, 

Let  that,  friend,  be  a  token 
Much  should  be  heard,  and  not  so  much 

Be  spoken.  From  the  Du 

63.  Sing  "  Ah,"  or  "  No,"  and  then  speak  it  as  in 
conversation.  What  is  the  chief  difference?  How  does 
the  "  buzz  "  of  the  bee  differ  from  speaking?  In  these 
lines  how  will  line  one  differ  from  line  two  in  reading? 

"  Buzz,  Buzz,  Buzz," 

This  is  the  song  of  the  bee; 

His  legs  are  of  yellow, 

A  jolly  good  fellow, 

And  yet  a  great  worker  is  he. 

If  training  of  the  ear  for  inflexion  has  not  been  undertaken  before,  it  must 
be  undertaken  at  this  point.  Note  the  steps  in  training  the  ear:  training  for 
the  sense  of  quality,  direction  of  inflexion,  length  of  inflexion,  change  of  pitch, 
difference  between  song  and  speech,  tone-color,  and  the  like. 

Call  attention,  as  the  problem  indicates,  to  the  difference  between  the  hum 
and  buzz  of  the  bees,  or  some  continuous  sound  like  that  of  the  humming- 
bird, and  the  way  we  speak  words.  Then  mark  a  high  mark  for  a  high  note  in 
singing  and  a  low  mark  for  a  low  note;  then  an  upward  line  toward  the  right 
for  the  rising  inflexion  and  a  downward  line  toward  the  left  for  the  falling 
inflexion.  The  marks  should  be  long  and  gradual,  and  all  the  children  should 
follow  slowly.  Later,  the  marks  may  be  much  more  abrupt.  This  exercise 
even  helps  the  ear  in  singing.  The  teacher  should  not  make  any  rules  as  to  what 
inflexions  should  be  given  on  specific  words,  but  simply  awaken  the  young 
mind  to  the  realization  of  what  an  inflexion  is  and  what  it  does  in  speaking. 


56  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  When  I'm  a  man 
A  blacksmith  I'll  be,  if  I  can. 
Clang,  clang,  clang,  shall  my  anvil  ring; 
And  this  is  the  way  the  blows  I'll  swing. 
I'll  shoe  your  horse,  sir,  neat  and  tight; 
Then  I'll  trot  round  the  square,  to  see  if  it's  right,  — 

When  I'm  a  man." 

64.  Observe  how  you  think,  and  note  the  effect  of 
your  thinking  upon  the  inflexions  of  your  voice  in  con- 
versation.    In  the  excited  dialogue  between  Hamlet  and 
Horatio  observe  how  the  questions  of  the  one  and  the 
replies  of  the  other  are  expressed  by  the  voice  through 
inflexions. 

Did  you  not  speak  to  it?  My  lord,  I  did. 

Hold  you  the  watch  to-night?        We  do,  my  lord. 

Arm'd,  say  you?  Arm'd,  my  lord. 

From  top  to  toe?  My  lord,  from  head  to  foot. 

Then  saw  you  not  his  face?  O  yes,  my  lord,  he  wore  his  beaver 

up. 
What,  —  looked  he  frowningly?     A    countenance    more    in    sorrow 

than  in  anger. 
From  "  Hamlet."  William  Shakespeare. 

65.  Can  your  ear  quickly  detect  the  different  kinds 
of  inflexion?     Practice  following  marks  with  your  voice 
—  for  rising  and  falling,  long  and  short  inflexions. 

The  best  thing  to  give  your  enemy  is  forbearance;  to  an  oppo- 
nent, tolerance;  to  a  friend,  your  heart;  to  a  child,  a  good  example; 
to  a  father,  deference;  to  your  mother,  conduct  that  will  make  her 
proud  of  you;  to  yourself,  respect;  to  all  men,  charity. 

Mrs.  Balfour. 

66.  Render  a  short  sentence  or  line,  thinking  each  idea 
or  phrase  in  different  ways.     What  effect  do  these  differ- 
ent ways  of  thinking  or  attitudes  of  mind  have  upon 
inflexion?    What  directly  causes  any  inflexion? 

When  thought  and  love  are  active  there  can  be  no  sadness. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  I 

The  necessity  for  continual  review  of  exercises  for  ear-training  cannot  be  too 
strongly  emphasized  at  this  point.  These  exercises  can  be  made  more  difficult; 
the  inflexions  may  be  made  more  abrupt  and  shorter,  which  makes  all  realize 
the  difference  in  length  of  inflexion,  a  fourth  and  more  difficult  subject  for  the 
ear.  The  student  should  be  exercised  in  length  of  inflexion  before  attention  is 
called  to  it. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  57 

I  like  thy  self-complacent  air, 
I  like  thy  ways  so  free  from  care, 

Thy  landlord  stroll  about  my  fields, 
Quickly  noting  what  each  yields; 

Thy  courtly  mien  and  bearing  bold, 

As  if  thy  claim  were  bought  with  gold.  .  . 

Never  plaintive  nor  appealing, 

Quite  at  home  when  thou  art  stealing, 

Always  groomed  to  tip  of  feather, 
Calm  and  trim  in  every  weather, 

Morn  till  night  my  woods  policing, 
Every  sound  thy  watch  increasing.  .  .  . 

Hunters,  prowlers,  woodland  lovers 
Vainly  seek  the  leafy  covers.  .  .  . 

Dowered  with  leisure,  void  of  hurry, 
Void  of  fuss  and  void  of  worry,  .  .  . 

May  I  never  cease  to  meet  thee, 
May  I  never  have  to  eat  thee. 

And  mayest  thou  never  have  to  fare  so 
That  thou  playest  the  part  of  scarecrow. 
From  poem  on  the  Crow  at  close  of  "  Ways  of  Nature."         John  Burroughs. 

67.  Read  a  passage  showing  each  central  idea  or 
object  upon  which  your  attention  is  successively  fixed. 
For  example,  to  make  clear  or  forcible  the  following, 
note  that  the  word  "  sorrel  "  in  the  fifth  line  and  "  lady- 
bird "  in  the  sixth  line  are  central.  To  give  these  their 
value  naturally,  observe  that  the  words  before  them 
have  rising  inflexions,  while  these  words  have  falling. 
Change  in  the  direction  of  inflexion  in  this  case  would 
indicate  the  center  of  your  attention. 

This  introduces  an  important  step  in  the  study  of  the  effect  of  thinking 
upon  the  modulations  of  the  voice.  It  shows  one  of  the  functions  of  inflexion. 
It  is  well  to  introduce  simple  sentences,  such  as  "  The  boys  will  play  ball  to- 
day," and  thus  train  the  children's  ear  to  recognize  what  their  voices  have 
done.  Put  the  word  "  girls  "  instead  of  "  boys  "  and  speak  one  sentence  in 
opposition  to  the  other.  Students  can  then  see  that  a  falling  inflexion  comes 
on  the  word  "  girls  "  because  that  word  in  such  a  case  becomes  the  center  of 
attention.  It  is  well  not  to  use  technical  words,  like  "  emphasis,"  which  are 
very  much  abused;  rather,  set  children  to  observe  for  themselves  so  that  they 
may  realize  that  the  process  of  thinking,  when  genuine  and  intense,  will  cause 
this  change  in  the  direction  of  inflexion.  The  fact  that  this  inflexion  is  longer 
than  any  other  may  also  be  introduced  though  it  is  generally  best  to  leave  that 
point  until  the  next  lesson. 


58 


LITTLE     CLASSICS 


From 


I  have  just  to  shut  my  eyes 

To  go  sailing  through  the  skies  — 

To  go  sailing  far  away 

To  the  pleasant  Land  of  Play:  .  .  . 

I  can  in  the  sorrel  sit 

Where  the  ladybird  alit. 

I  can  climb  the  jointed  grass 

And  on  high 
See  the  greater  swallows  pass 

In  the  sky, 

And  the  round  sun  rolling  by, 
Heeding  no  such  things  as  I. 
The  Little  Land."  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


Of  all  beasts  he  learned  the  language, 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  the  beavers  built  their  lodges, 
Where  the  squirrels  hid  their  acorns, 
How  the  reindeer  ran  so  swiftly, 
Why  the  rabbit  was  so  timid, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Brothers." 
From  "  Hiawatha."     See  p.  201.  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


We  live  in  deeds,  not  years;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths; 

In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 

We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most  lives 

Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best. 

Life's  but  a  means  unto  an  end,  that  end 

Beginning,  mean,  and  end  to  all  things,  —  God. 

Festus."  Philip  James  Bailey, 


From 


High  up  on  the  lonely  mountains,  the  Indians  watched  and  waited; 
there  were  wolves  in  the  forest,  and  bears  in  the  bush,  and  I  on  my 
path  belated. 

The  rain  and  the  night  together  came  down,  and  the  wind  came 
after,  bending  the  props  of  the  pine-tree  roof,  and  snapping  many  a 
rafter. 

I  crept  along  in  the  darkness,  stunned  and  bruised  and  blinded, 
—  crept  to  a  fir  with  thick  set  boughs,  and  a  sheltering  rock  be- 
hind it. 

There,  from  the  blowing  and  raining,  crouching,  I  sought  to  hide 
me:  something  rustled,  two  green  eyes  shone,  and  a  wolf  lay  down 
beside  me. 

Seeking  shelter  under  the  rock,  —  I  and  the  wolf  together,  —  side 
by  side,  through  the  long,  long  night,  hid  from  the  awful  weather. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  59 

His  wet  fur  pressed  against  me;  each  of  us  wanned  the  other:  each 
of  us  felt,  in  the  stormy  dark,  that  beast  and  man  was  brother. 

And  when  the  falling  forest  no  longer  crashed  in  warning,  each  of 
us  went  from  our  hiding-place  forth  in  the  wild,  wet  morning. 

TOLL,  THEN,   NO   MORE! 

Toll  for  the  dead,  toll,  toll! 

No,  no!     Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring  out  and  shout. 
For  they  the  pearly  gates  have  entered  in, 
And  they  no  more  shall  sin,  — 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring,  ring! 

Toll  for  the  living,  toll! 

No,  no!  Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring  out  and  shout, 
For  they  do  His  work  tho'  midst  toil  and  din, 
They,  too,  the  goal  shall  win,  — 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring,  ring! 

Toll  for  the  coming,  toll! 

No,  no!     Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring  out  and  shout, 
For  it  is  theirs  to  conquer,  theirs  to  win 
The  final  entering  in,  — 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring,  ring! 

Toll,  then,  no  more,  ye  bells! 
No,  no!     Ring  out,  O  bells,  ring  out  and  shout: 
The  Was,  the  Is,  the  Shall  Be,  and  all  men 
Are  in  His  hand!     Amen! 

Ring  out,  ye  bells,  ring,  ring! 

R.  R.  Bowker. 

XXII.   STRONG   IDEAS  AND  LONG   INFLEXIONS 

One  ship  sails  east,  and  another  sails  west, 

By  the  self-same  winds  that  blow; 
'Tis  the  set  of  the  sails,  and  not  the  gales, 

That  determines  the  way  they  go. 
Like  the  ships  on  the  sea  are  the  ways  of  men, 

As  they  journey  on  through  life, 
'Tis  the  set  of  the  soul  that  determines  the  goal, 

And  not  the  calm,  or  the  strife. 

Not  known. 

68.  How  else  than  by  changing  direction  of  inflexion 
do  we  indicate  the  central  or  important  word  in  a  sen- 
tence? Note  that  at  the  point  where  we  change  the 
direction  of  inflexion  there  is  a  much  longer  inflexion. 
Observe  in  a  simple  sentence  how  you  indicate  the  cen- 
tral word  both  by  change  in  direction  and  by  increase 


60  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

in  length  of  the  inflexion  on  the  important  words.  Give 
some  sentence  or  passage  in  many  ways,  and  notice  that 
nature  has  a  few  fundamentals  and  many  accidentals 
and  that  we  are  always  free  to  use  many  variations, 
especially  of  accidentals. 

An  emerald  is  as  green  as  grass, 

A  ruby  red  as  blood, 
A  sapphire  shines  as  blue  as  heaven, 

A  flint  lies  in  the  mud. 

A  diamond  is  a  brilliant  stone 

To  catch  the  world's  desire; 
An  opal  holds  a  fiery  spark; 

But  a  flint  holds  fire. 

Christina  Rossetti. 

69.  How  do  you  show  the  important  word  in  a  de- 
cided question,  such  as  "  Have  you  seen  Henry  this 
morning?  " 

Cast  forth  thy  act,  thy  word  into  the  ever-living,  ever-working 
Universe;  it  is  a  seed  grain  that  cannot  die;  unnoticed  to-day,  it 
will  be  found  flourishing  as  a  banyan  grove  after  a  thousand  years. 

Thomas  Carlyle. 

Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  death; 

valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear; 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 
Will  come  when  it  will  come. 

William  Shakespeare. 

O  mighty  sea,  that  mightily  doth  roar, 

Against  yon  boulder  all  thy  fury  tossed 
Can  harm  it  not;  thy  waves  now  dash  it  o'er 

Unheeded,  and  thy  vaunted  strength  is  lost! 

In  reading  we  show  definitely  each  successive  idea  or  object  upon  which  our 
attention  is  fixed.  On  the  word  which  stands  for  this  central  idea,  we  change 
the  direction  of  inflexion.  We  also  give  to  that  word  a  longer  inflexion  than  to 
the  other  words  of  the  phrase.  See  "  Foundations  of  Expression, "p.  Ill;  "Les- 
sons in  Vocal  Expression,"  pp.  117-123. 

Observe,  for  example,  that  "emerald,"  "ruby,"  "sapphire"  and  "flint" 
have  the  longest  inflexions.  There  is  also  a  moderately  long  inflexion  on 
"  grass,"  "  blood,"  "  heaven  "  and  "  mud." 

Observe  also  that  the  last  word  in  the  poem,  "  fire,"  has  a  longer  inflexion 
than  all  the  others.  It  is  a  good  point  to  draw  this  out  and  let  students  show 
why  it  is  longer. 

It  will  be  observed  that  either  direction  or  length  of  inflexion  may  change 
without  modifying  the  other. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  61 

So  "gainst  Truth's  stable  rock  the  threatening  sea 
Of  error's  seeming  power  doth  vainly  break; 

And  there  indeed  our  refuge  sure  shall  be, 

When  loud  the  storms  their  frightening  clamor  make! 

Charles  C.  Sandelin. 

THE   SUN  AND  THE  POPPIES 

Five  little  poppies  opened  their  eyes, 
One  hazy  dawn,  to  see  the  sun  rise; 
And,  as  they  looked,  they  said,  each  one: 
"  Oh,  how  I  would  like  to  be  the  sun; 
For  it  moves  all  round  the  world,  so  gay, 
While  we  stand  still  in  the  field  all  day!  " 

Five  poppies  watched  the  sun  until 

It  faded  and  sank  behind  the  hill; 

And  they  said:   "  After  such  a  long  trip  about, 

The  poor  old  sun  must  be  tired  out!  " 

And  their  drooping  heads  from  the  grass  did  peep, 

And  five  little  poppies  fell  fast  asleep. 

Martha  Agnes  Rand. 

Is  there  such  a  thing  as  bad  weather?  No;  only  different  kinds 
of  good  weather. 

70.  Can  you  recognize  at  once  by  your  ear  the  dif- 
ference between  long  and  short  inflexions,  as  well  as 
contrast  in  direction  of  inflexions? 

What  is  the  effect  of  reading  a  passage,  first  with  short 
inflexions,  and  then  with  very  long  ones? 

He  that  wrongs  his  friend,  wrongs  himself  more.  -'rC" 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

A  dog  starved  at  his  master's  gate 

Predicts  the  ruin  of  the  state; 

A  game-cock  clipped  and  armed  for  fight 

Doth  the  rising  sun  affright; 

A  skylark  wounded  on  the  wing 

Doth  make  a  cherub  cease  to  sing. 

He  who  shall  hurt  the  little  wren 

Shall  never  be  beloved  by  men;  .  .  . 

The  wild  deer  wandering  here  and  there 

Keep  the  human  soul  from  care: 

The  lamb  misused  breeds  public  strife, 

And  yet  forgives  the  butcher's  knife. 

Kill  not  the  moth  nor  butterfly, 

For  the  last  judgment  draweth  nigh; 


62  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

The  beggar's  dog  and  widow's  cat, 

Feed  them  and  thou  shalt  soon  grow  fat.  .  .  . 

The  bleat,  the  bark,  bellow,  and  roar, 

Are  waves  that  beat  on  Heaven's  shore. 

William  Blake. 

71.  What  is  the  chief  meaning  of  length  of  inflexion? 
How  does  length  of  inflexion  differ  in  meaning  from 
direction  of  inflexion? 

What  are  some  of  the  chief  actions  of  your  voice  that 
express  great  interest  and  earnestness? 

A  BIRD'S  NEST 

It  wins  my  admiration 
To  view  the  structure  of  that  little  work, 
A  bird's  nest.     Mark  it  well,  within,  without; 
No  tool  had  he  that  wrought;   no  knife  to  cut; 
No  nail  to  fix;  no  bodkin  to  insert; 
No  glue  to  join;  —  his  little  beak  was  all: 
And  yet  how  neatly  finished !     What  nice  hand, 
With  every  implement  and  means  of  art, 
And  twenty  years'  apprenticeship  to  boot, 
Could  make  me  such  another? 

James  Hurdis. 

Our  good  steeds  snuff  the  evening  air, 

Our  pulses  with  their  purpose  tingle; 
The  foeman's  fires  are  twinkling  there; 
He  leaps  to  hear  our  sabers  jingle. 

Halt! 

Each  carbine  sent  its  whizzing  ball: 
Now  cling!  clang!  forward  all 

Into  the  fight! 
"  The  Cavalry  Charge."  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 

72.  Think  a  passage  definitely  and  speak  it  forcibly 
to  someone.     Observe  the  effect  of  your  thinking  upon 
your  voice,   especially  upon  your  inflexions.     Read  a 
passage  in  various  ways  taking  a  different  attitude  each 
time.     Let  your  inflexions  respond  freely  and  naturally 
to  your  thinking. 

Pride  costs  us  more  than  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold. 

One  of  the  best  exercises  for  developing  inflexional  agility  in  the  voice  is  to 
read  very  earnestly  passages  calling  for  different  attitudes  of  mind.  This  is  also 
helpful  in  developing  the  voice  and  the  thinking.  It  is  a  direct  expression  and 
exercise  of  the  logical  actions  of  the  mind,  as  used  in  conversation. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  63 

Write  your  name  in  kindness,  love,  and  mercy  on  the  hearts 
you  come  in  contact  with,  and  you  will  never  be  forgotten. 

Chalmers 
Never  ask  others  to  do  what  you  can  do  yourself. 

THE  DAISY 

There  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower 
With  silver  crest  and  golden  eye 
That  welcomes  every  changing  hour 
And  weathers  every  sky. 

It  smiles  upon  the  lap  of  May, 
To  sultry  August  spreads  its  charm, 
Lights  pale  October  on  his  way, 
And  twines  December's  arm. 

'Tis 'Flora's  page  in  every  place, 
In  every  season  fresh  and  fair, 
It  opens  with  perennial  grace 
And  blossoms  everywhere. 

On  waste  and  woodland,  rock  and  plain 
Its  humble  buds  unheeded  rise; 
The  rose  had  but  a  summer  reign 
The  daisy  never  dies. 

James  Montgomery. 

XXIII.   THINKING    IN    CHANGE    OF    PITCH    AND    IN- 
FLEXION 

If  wisdom's  ways  you'd  wisely  seek, 

Five  things  observe  with  care,  — 
Of  whom  you  speak,  to  whom  you  speak, 

And  how,  and  when,  and  where. 

73.  In  every  sentence  direction  and  length  of  in- 
flexion combine  naturally  with  each  other  and  with 
change  of  pitch.  In  speaking  a  short  sentence  let  vigor- 
ous thinking  or  earnestness  accentuate  and  bring  these 
into  unity.  Does  your  ear  observe  this?  Why  is  this 
union  important? 

The  little  cares  that  fretted  me 

I  lost  them  yesterday, 
Among  the  hills  above  the  sea, 

Among  the  winds  at  play. 

Mrs.  Browning. 


64 


LITTLE     CLASSICS 


Better  to  feel  a  love  within, 

Than  be  lovely  to  the  sight! 
Better  a  homely  tenderness 

Than  beauty's  wild  delight! 

George  Macdunald. 

74.  Can  you  use  change  of  pitch  to  show  discrimina- 
tion of  ideas?     Can  you  multiply  and  extend  both  your 
discriminations   and   your   changes   of  pitch   to   make 
clearer    and    more    forcible    some    emphatic    passage? 
Can  you  increase  the  number  and  the  length  of  your 
pauses  inflexions,  and  intervals  in  reading  these  four 
lines,  so  as  to  make  the  ideas  interesting  and  forcible 
to  someone  else? 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking; 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking. 
From  "  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."  James  Russell  Lowell. 

Better  not  be  at  all  than  not  be  noble. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

75.  What  is  the  difference  between  a  contrast  shown 
by  inflexion  and  one  shown  by  change  of  pitch?     Illus- 
trate by  giving  some  passage  both  ways. 

11          NOBILITY 
'rue  worth  is  in  being,  not  seeming, 

In  doing  each  day  that  goes  by 
Some  little  good,  —  not  in  the  dreaming 

Of  great  things  to  do  by  and  by. 
For  whatever  men  say  in  blindness, 

And  spite  of  the  fancies  of  youth, 
There's  nothing  so  kingly  as  kindness, 

And  nothing  so  royal  as  truth. 
We  get  back  our  mete  as  we  measure,  — 

We  cannot  do  wrong  and  feel  right; 
Nor  can  we  give  pain  and  feel  pleasure, 

For  justice  avenges  each  slight. 
The  air  for  the  wing  of  the  sparrow, 

The  bush  for  the  robin  and  wren; 
But  always  the  path  that  is  narrow 

And  straight,  for  the  children  of  men.  .  . 

The  specific  function  of  each  modulation  of  the  voice  must  be  gradually 
realized.  Such  contrasts  as  these  are  a  helpful  exercise  but  may  be  too  difficult 
for  young  students  without  some  illustration  from  the  teacher. 

The  inflexion  emphasizes  more  the  inherent  connection;  the  change  of  pitch 
more  the  difference  or  contrast  of  the  ideas. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  65 

We  cannot  make  bargains  for  blisses, 

Nor  catch  them  like  fishes  in  nets; 
And  sometimes  the  thing  our  life  misses 

Helps  more  than  the  thing  that  it  gets. 

For  good  lieth  not  in  pursuing, 

Nor  gaining  of  great  nor  of  small; 
But  just  in  the  doing ;  and  doing 

As  we  would  be  done  by,  is  all. 

Through  envy,  through  malice,  through  hating 

Against  the  world  early  and  late, 
No  jot  of  our  courage  abating,  — 

Our  part  is  to  work  and  to  wait. 

And  slight  is  the  sting  of  his  trouble 

Whose  winnings  are  less  than  his  worth; 

For  he  who  is  honest  is  noble, 
Whatever  his  fortune  or  birth. 

Alice  Gary,  1820-1871. 

A  TALE 

In  Scotland's  realm,  forlorn  and  bare,  the  history  chanced  of  late 
—  the  history  of  a  wedded  pair,  a  chaffinch  and  his  mate.  The  spring 
drew  near;  each  felt  a  breast  with  genial  instinct  filled;  they  paired, 
and  would  have  built  a  nest  but  found  not  where  to  build.  The 
heaths  uncovered,  and  the  moors,  except  with  snow  and  sleet,  sea- 
beaten  rocks  and  naked  shores,  could  yield  them  no  retreat.  Long 
time  a  breeding-place  they  sought,  till  both  grew  vexed  and  tired; 
at  length  a  ship  arriving  brought  the  good  so  long  desired. 

A  ship!  could  such  a  restless  thing  afford  them  place  of  rest? 
or  was  the  merchant  charged  to  bring  the  homeless  birds  a  nest? 
Hush !  —  silent  readers  profit  most  —  this  racer  of  the  sea  proved 
kinder  to  them  than  the  coast,  —  it  served  them  with  a  tree.  But 
such  a  tree!  'twas  shaven  deal,  the  tree  they  call  a  mast;  and  had  a 
hollow  with  a  wheel,  through  which  the  tackle  passed.  Within  that 
cavity,  aloft,  their  roofless  home  they  fixed;  formed  with  materials 
neat  and  soft,  bents,  wood,  and  feathers  mixed. 

Four  ivory  eggs  soon  pave  its  floor  with  russet  specks  bedight; 
the  vessel  weighs,  forsakes  the  shore,  and  lessens  to  the  sight.  The 
mother-bird  is  gone  to  sea,  as  she  had  changed  her  kind.  But  goes 
the  male?  Far  wiser,  he  is  doubtless  left  behind.  No:  —  soon  as 
from  ashore  he  saw  the  winged  mansion  move,  he  flew  to  reach  it,  by 
a  law  of  never-failing  love;  then  perching  at  his  consort's  side,  was 
briskly  borne  along;  the  billows  and  the  blasts  defied,  and  cheered 
her  with  a  song. 

The  seaman,  with  sincere  delight,  his  feathered  shipmate  eyes, 
scarce  less  exulting  in  the  sight  than  when  he  tows  a  prize.  For  sea- 
men much  believe  in  signs,  and,  from  a  chance  so  new,  each  some 
approaching  good  divines;  and  may  his  hopes  be  true! 

William  Cowper,  1731-1800. 


66 


LITTLE     CLASSICS 


76.   Render  naturally  some  poem  or  story,  giving  great 
variation  of  inflexions  to  express  many  shades  of  mean- 


An  act  of  yours  is  not  simply  the  thing  you  do,  but  is  also  the 
way  you  do  it.  Phillips  Brooks. 

DESPISE  NOT  YOUR  NEIGHBOR 

A  diamond  found  itself,  to  its  extreme  annoyance,  lying  side  by 
side  with  a  piece  of  common  blacklead  under  a  gas  jet.  "  Dis- 
gusting!" it  remarked;  "this  is  not  fit  society  for  a  diamond  of 
the  first  water."  "  Pooh!  "  said  the  blacklead,  carelessly,  "  you're 
only  a  bit  of  carbon  like  me."  The  diamond  flashed  furiously. 
"  We  are  absolutely  and  fundamentally  different,"  it  said.  "  I 
have  nothing  in  common  with  you,  so  be  silent." 

Presently  in  came  a  chemist,  with  half  a  dozen  pupils.  "  See 
here!  "  he  said,  taking  up  the  diamond,  and  applying  to  it  the  full 
force  of  the  blowpipe;  and  lo!  to  its  horrow,  the  diamond  felt  and 
saw  itself  swelling  up  into  a  horrible  black  mass  before  resolving 
into  an  invisible  and  noxious  gas.  As  it  faded  away,  its  last  recog- 
nized sensation  was  a  malicious  gleam  emanating  from  the  black- 
lead.  The  rich  too  often  regard  themselves  as  diamonds,  and  forget 
that  in  the  Great  Chemist's  furnace  they  will  prove  to  be  of  the 
same  elements  as  the  poor. 

SEVEN  TIMES   TWO,   ROMANCE 

You  bells  in  the  steeple,  ring,  ring  out  your  changes 

How  many  soever  they  be, 
And  let  the  brown  meadow  lark's  note  as  he  ranges 

Come  over,  come  over  to  me. 

Yet  birds'  clearest  carol  by  fall  or  by  swelling 

No  magical  sense  conveys, 
And  bells  have  forgotten  their  old  art  of  telling 

The  fortune  of  future  days. 

"  Turn  again,  turn  again,"  once  they  rang  cheerily 

While  a  boy  listened  alone; 
Made  his  heart  yearn  again,  musing  so  wearily 

All  by  himself  on  a  stone. 

Poor  bells!   I  forgive  you;   your  good  days  are  over, 

And  mine,  they  are  yet  to  be; 
No  listening,  no  longing  shall  aught,  aught  discover: 

You  leave  the  story  to  me. 

The  foxglove  shoots  out  of  the  green  matted  heather, 

And  hangeth  her  hoods  of  snow; 
She  was  idle,  and  slept  till  the  sunshiny  weather; 

O  children  take  long  to  grow! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  67 

I  wish,  and  I  wish  that  the  spring  would  go  faster, 

Nor  long  summer  bide  so  late; 
And  I  could  grow  on  like  the  foxglove  and  aster, 

For  some  things  are  ill  to  wait. 

I  wait  for  the  day  when  dear  hearts  shall  discover, 
While  dear  hands  are  laid  on  my  head; 

"  The  child  is  a  woman,  the  book  may  close  over, 
For  all  the  lessons  are  said." 

I  wait  for  my  story  —  the  birds  cannot  sing  it, 

Not  one,  as  he  sits  on  the  tree; 
The  bells  cannot  ring  it,  but  long  years,  O,  bring  it! 

Such  as  I  wish  it  to  be! 

Jean  Ingelow,  1820-1897. 

XXIV.    RELATIVE  VALUE  OF  IDEAS  AND  WORDS 

In  the  Cathedral  of  Lubeck,  Germany,  is  the  following  inscription: 
"  Thus  speaketh  Christ  our  Lord  to  us: 
Ye  call  me  Master,  and  obey  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Light,  and  seek  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Way,  and  walk  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Life,  and  desire  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Wise,  and  follow  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Fair,  and  love  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Rich,  and  ask  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Eternal,  and  seek  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Gracious,  and  trust  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Noble,  and  serve  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Mighty,  and  honor  me  not; 
Ye  call  me  Just,  and  hear  me  not; 
If  I  condemn  you,  blame  me  not." 

77.  What  lessons  can  you  learn  from  a  cumulative 
story? 

Behind  the  snowy  loaf  is  the  mill-wheel;  behind  the  mill  is  the 
wheatfield;  on  the  wheatfield  rests  the  sunlight:  above  the  sun  is 
God.  James  Russell  Lowell. 

The  cumulative  story  seems  nonsense  to  some  who  have  not  studied  its 
history  or  who  do  not  know  its  importance  as  the  first  expression  of  the  suc- 
cession of  ideas  and  their  relative  value.  All  stories,  and  in  fact  all  conver- 
sation, imply  the  mental  action  that  is  accentuated  in  the  cumulative  story. 
With  young  students  it  is  the  best  method  of  developing  right  logical  sequence 
and  method,  which  is  at  the  basis  of  all  intelligent  reading,  conversation  and 
speaking. 

It  will  be  observed  that  there  are  in  this  book  very  primitive  illustrations  of 
cumulative  stories.  Others  follow  until  the  formal  presentation  of  the  cumu- 
lative ideas  entirely  disappears.  But  the  additional  cumulative  ideas  in  every 
case  must  be  indicated  by  the  modulations  of  the  voice  especially  by  inflexion 
and  change  of  pitch. 


68  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Little  by  little  the  bird  builds  her  nest; 
Little  by  little  the  sun  sinks  to  rest: 
Little  by  little  the  waves,  in  their  glee, 
Smoothed  the  rough  rocks  by  the  shore  of  the  sea. 

Drop  after  drop  falls  the  soft  summer  shower; 
Leaf  upon  leaf  grows  the  cool  forest  bower; 
Grain  heaped  on  grain  forms  the  mountains  so  high, 
That  its  cloud-capped  summit  is  lost  to  the  eye. 

MARRIAGE   OF   COCK  ROBIN  AND  JENNY  WREN 

There  was  an  old  gray  Pussy-cat,  and  she  went  down  a  water- 
side, and  there  she  saw  a  wee  Robin  Redbreast  hopping  on  a  briar 
bush. 

And  gray  Pussy-cat  says,  "  Where  are  you  going,  wee  Robin?  " 
And  wee  Robin  says,  "I'm  going  away  to  the  King  to  sing  him  a 
song  this  good  morning." 

And  gray  Pussy-cat  said,  "  Come  here,  wee  Robin,  and  I'll  let 
you  see  a  bonnie,  white  ring  around  my  neck."  But  wee  Robin  says, 
"  No!  no!  old  gray  Pussy-cat,  no!  no!  Ye  worry  the  wee  mousies, 
but  ye  will  not  worry  me!  " 

So  wee  Robin  flew  away  until  he  came  to  a  thorny  dyke,  and 
there  he  saw  a  gray,  greedy  Hawk  sitting.  And  the  gray,  greedy 
Hawk  says,  "  Where  are  you  going,  wee  Robin?  " 

And  wee  Robin  says,  "I'm  going  away  to  the  King  to  sing  to 
him  a  song  this  good  morning."  And  gray,  greedy  Hawk  says, 
"  Come  here,  wee  Robin,  and  I'll  let  you  see  a  bonny  feather  in  my 
wing." 

But  wee  Robin  says,  "  No!  no!  gray,  greedy  Hawk,  no!  no!  " 
So  wee  Robin  flew  away  until  he  came  to  a  cleft  in  the  craig,  and 
there  he  saw  the  Fox,  sitting. 

And  the  sly  Fox  says,  "  Where  are  you  going,  wee  Robin?  " 
And  wee  Robin  says,  "  I'm  going  away  to  the  King  to  sing  him  a 
song  this  good  morning." 

And  the  sly  Fox  says,  "  Come  here,  wee  Robin,  and  I'll  let  ye 
see  a  bonnie  spot  on  the  tip  of  my  tail."  And  wee  Robin  says, 
"  No!  no!  sly  Fox,  no!  no!  " 

So  wee  Robin  flew  away  till  he  came  to  a  bonnie  brookside,  and 
there  he  saw  a  wee  Laddie  sitting.  And  the  wee  Laddie  says, 
"  Where  are  you  going,  wee  Robin?  "  And  wee  Robin  says,  "  I'm 
going  away  to  the  King  to  sing  to  him  a  song  this  good  morning." 

And  the  wee  Laddie  says,  "  Come  here,  wee  Robin,  and  I'll 
give  you  a  bit  of  oat  cake  out  of  my  pouch."  But  wee  Robin  says, 
"  No!  no!  wee  Laddie,  no!  no!  " 

So  wee  Robin  flew  away  until  he  came  to  the  King,  and  there  he 
sat  on  the  window  sill  and  sang  the  King  a  bonnie  song.  And  the 
King  says  to  the  Queen,  "  What  shall  we  give  to  wee  Robin  for  sing- 
ing us  this  bonnie  song?  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  69 

And  the  Queen  says  to  the  King,  "  I  think  we'll  give  him  Jenny 
Wren  to  be  his  wife." 

So  Cock  Robin  and  Jenny  Wren  were  married,  and  the  King  and 
the  Queen  and  all  the  Court  danced  at  the  wedding.  Then  Cock 
Robin  and  Jenny  Wren  flew  away  home  to  their  own  brookside  and 

hopped  on  a  briar  bush. 

Attributed  to  Robert  Burns. 

78.  How  does  the  voice  reveal  the  relation  of  ideas- 
to  each  other?  How  do  you  distinguish  central  or  im- 
portant ideas  or  words  from  those  that  are  unimportant 
or  subordinate? 

Those  who  can  take  the  lead  are  given  the  lead. 

Arthur  T.  Hadley. 
THE  FLOWER  FOLK 

Hope  is  like  a  harebell,  trembling  from  its  birth; 
Love  is  like  a  rose,  the  joy  of  all  the  earth; 
Faith  is  like  a  lily,  lifted  high  and  white; 
Love  is  like  a  lovely  rose,  the  world's  delight; 
Harebells  and  sweet  lilies  show  a  thornless  growth; 
But  the  rose  with  all  its  thorns  excels  them  both. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 

NAPOLEON  AND  THE  SAILOR 

Napoleon's  banners  at  Boulogne  armed  in  our  island  every  free- 
man; his  navy  chanced  to  capture  one  poor  British  seaman.  They 
suffered  him  —  I  know  not  how  —  imprisoned  on  the  shore  to  roam; 
and  aye  was  bent  his  longing  brow  on  England's  home.  His  eye, 
methinks,  pursued  the  flight  of  birds  to  Britain  half-way  over  with 
envy:  they  could  reach  the  white  dear  cliffs  of  Dover. 

At  last,  when  care  had  banished  sleep,  he  saw  one  morning  — 
dreaming,  doting  —  an  empty  hogshead  from  the  deep  come  shore- 
ward floating.  He  hid  it  in  a  cave,  and  wrought  the  livelong  day 
laborious,  lurking,  until  he  launched  a  tiny  boat  by  mighty  working. 
Heaven  help  us!  'twas  a  thing  beyond  description  wretched;  such  a 
wherry  perhaps  ne'er  ventured  on  a  pond  or  crossed  a  ferry.  For 
ploughing  in  the  salt  sea-field,  it  would  have  made  the  boldest  shud- 
der, untarred,  uncompassed,  and  unkeeled,  no  sail,  no  rudder.  From 
neighboring  woods  he  interlaced  his  sorry  skiff  with  wattled  willows; 
and  thus  equipped  he  would  have  passed  the  foaming  billows. 

But  Frenchmen  caught  him  on  the  beach,  his  little  Argo  sorely 
jeering,  till  tidings  of  him  chanced  to  reach  Napoleon's  hearing. 

The  more  important  words  have,  of  course,  longer  inflexions.  These  in- 
flexions, together  with  changes  of  pitch  and  pauses,  enable  us  to  subordinate 
some  words  or  clauses  and  to  i?ive  other  words  or  clauses  greater  prominence. 
The  subordinate  part,  with  short  rising  inflexions,  looks  forward;  while  short 
falling  inflexions  show  that  a  clause  is  subordinate  to  something  that  has  pre- 
ceded. Direction  of  inflexion  with  length  of  inflexion  and  change  of  pitch 
presents  subordination. 


70  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

With  folded  arms  Napoleon  stood,  serene  alike  in  peace  and  danger, 
and  in  his  wonted  attitude,  addressed  the  stranger:  "  Rash  man, 
that  wouldst  yon  channel  pass  on  twigs  and  staves  so  rudely  fash- 
ioned! Thy  heart  with  some  sweet  British  lass  must  be  impassioned." 
"  I  have  no  sweetheart,"  said  the  lad;  "  but  —  absent  long  from  one 
another  —  great  was  the  longing  that  I  had  to  see  my  mother." 
"  And  so  thou  shalt,"  Napoleon  said.  "  Ye've  both  my  favour 
fairly  won;  a  noble  mother  must  have  bred  so  brave  a  son." 

He  gave  the  tar  a  piece  of  gold,  and  with  a  flag  of  truce  commanded 
he  should  be  shipped  to  England  old,  and  safely  landed.  Our  sailor 
oft  could  scantily  shift  to  find  a  dinner  plain  and  hearty,  but  never 
changed  the  coin  and  gift  of  Bonaparte. 

Thomas  Campbell,  1777-1844. 

79.  How  do  you  reveal  the  main  facts  of  a  story  by 
the  voice? 

rTHE  BLIND   MEN  AND   THE  ELEPHANT 
It  was  six  men  of  Indpstan, 

To  learning  much  inclined, 
Who  went  to  see  the  elephant, 

(Though  all  of  them  were  blind), 
That  each  by  observation 

Might  satisfy  his  mind. 
The  first  approached  the  elephant 

And,  happening  to  fall 
Against  the  broad  and  sturdy  side, 

At  once  began  to  bawl: 
"  Why,  bless  me!  but  the  elephant 

Is  very  like  a  wall!  " 
The  second,  feeling  of  the  tusk, 

Cried:   "  Ho!  what  have  we  here 
So  very  round  and  smooth  and  sharp? 

To  me,  'tis  very  clear, 
This  wonder  of  an  elephant 

Is  very  like  a  spear!  " 
The  third  approached  the  animal, 

And,  happening  to  take 
The  squirming  trunk  within  his  hands, 

Thus  boldly  up  he  spake: 
"  I  see,"  quoth  he,  "  the  elephant 

Is  very  like  a  snake!  "_ 
The  fourth  reached  out  his  eager  hand 

And  felt  about  the  knee: 
"  What  most  this  wondrous  beast  is  like 

Is  very  plain,"  quoth  he: 
"  'Tis  clear  enough  the  elephant 

Is  very  like  a  tree!  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  71 

The  fifth  who  chanced  to  touch  the  ear, 

Said:   "  E'en  the  blindest  man 
Can  tell  what  this  resembles  most  — 

Deny  the  fact  who  can: 
This  marvel  of  an  elephant 

Is  very  like  a  fan!  " 

The  sixth  no  sooner  had  begun 

About  the  beast  to  grope 
Than,  seizing  on  the  swinging  tail 

That  fell  within  his  scope, 
"  I  see,"  quoth  he,  "  the  elephant 

Is  very  like  a  rope!  " 

And  so  these  men  of  Indostan 

Disputed  loud  and  long, 
Each  in  his  own  opinion 

Exceeding  stiff  and  strong; 
Though  each  was  partly  in  the  right, 

And  all  were  in  the  wrong. 

Oohn  G.  Saxe. 

XXV.   HOW  TO  TRAIN  THE  VOICE  TO  MAKE  CHANGES 
OVER  THE  HILLS 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 
The  autumn  winds  are  sighing; 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 
The  little  birds  are  flying. 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

The  winter  winds  are  blowing, 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

It's  snowing,  softly  snowing. 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

All  green  the  grass  is  growing; 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

The  farmer  his  seed  is  sowing. 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

Summer  is  surely  coming; 
Over  the  hills  and  far  away, 

The  busy  bees  are  humming. 

Not  known. 

80.  What  actions  or  modulations  of  the  voice  do 
you  use  in  making  a  short  sentence  clear  and  forcible? 
Why  are  we  disposed  to  forget  them  in  reading,  es- 
pecially in  a  long  passage? 


72  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Can  you  use  them  in  talking  and  reading  as  if  they 
were  your  own? 

Easy  to  match  what  others  do, 
Perform  the  feat  as  well  as  they; 

Hard  to  out-do  the  brave,  the  true, 
And  find  a  loftier  way. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

81.  What  are  the  separate  actions  that  give  you  wide 
range  of  voice  in  reading  and  in  speaking?     Read  a  pas- 
sage and  emphasize  all  of  these  actions. 

There  is  nothing  so  kingly  as  kindness, 

And  nothing  so  royal  as  truth. 

Alice  Gary. 

Show  me  the  man  you  honor,  I  know  by  that  symptom,  better 
than  by  any  other,  what  kind  of  a  man  you  yourself  are.  For  you 
show  me  there  what  your  ideal  of  manhood  is;  what  kind  of  a  man 

you  long  inexpressibly  to  be. 

Thomas  Carlyle. 

What  ought  not  to  be  done,  do  not  even  think  of  doing. 

Epictetus. 

82.  When  you  feel  the  difference  between  two  ideas 
what  difference  does  it  make  in  your  voice?     When  you 
feel  the  connection  between  two  ideas  how  does  it  show 
in  your  tone? 

Read  a  passage  and  make  sure  that  your  voice  shows 
your  thinking. 

"  Listen  to  the  words  of  wisdom, 
Listen  to  the  words  of  warning, 
From  the  lips  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
From  the  Master  of  Life,  who  made  you. 

"  I  have  given  you  lands  to  hunt  in, 
I  have  given  you  streams  to  fish  in, 
I  have  given  you  bear  and  bison, 
I  have  given  you  roe  and  reindeer, 
I  have  given  you  brant  and  beaver, 
Filled  the  marshes  full  of  wild-fowl, 

With  younger  children,  or  with  those  who  have  only  a  short  time  to  study, 
some  of  the  lessons  in  this  book  should  be  omitted,  such  as  XXV  and  XXVI. 
These  will  be  found  very  helpful,  however,  if  students  have  time  for  them. 

Changes  of  pitch  and  inflexions  in  great  variety,  in  union  with  long  pauses, 
may  be  so  harmoniously  increased  as  to  give  very  wide  range  of  voice  and  ex- 
press great  earnestness  or  interest  without  making  a  passage  declamatory  or 
loud. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  73 

Filled  the  rivers  full  of  fishes; 

Why  then  are  you  not  contented? 

Why  then  will  you  hunt  each  other? 
"  I  am  weary  of  your  quarrels, 

Weary  of  your  wars  and  bloodshed, 

Weary  of  your  prayers  for  vengeance, 

Of  your  wranglings  and  dissensions; 

All  your  strength  is  in  your  union, 

All  your  danger  is  in  discord; 

Therefore,  be  at  peace  henceforward, 

And  as  brothers  live  together." 
From  "  Song  of  Hiawatha."  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

WRITTEN  IN  MARCH 

The  cock  is  crowing,  the  stream  is  flowing,  the  small  birds  twitter, 
the  lake  doth  glitter,  the  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun;  the  oldest  and 
youngest  are  at  work  with  the  strongest;  the  cattle  are  grazing,  their 
heads  never  raising;  there  are  forty  feeding  like  one. 

Like  an  army  defeated  the  snow  hath  retreated,  and  now  doth 
fare  ill  on  the  top  of  the  bare  hill;  the  plowboy  is  whooping  —  anon 
—  anon:  there's  joy  on  the  mountains;  there's  life  in  the  fountains; 
small  clouds  are  sailing,  blue  sky  prevailing;  the  rain  is  over  and 
gone  I  William  Wordsworth,  1770-1851. 

For  every  evil  under  the  sun, 
There  is  a  remedy,  or  there  is  none. 
If  there  be  one,  try  to  find  it; 
If  there  be  none,  never  mind  it. 

THE  BLUEBELL 
There  is  a  story  I  have  heard; 
A  poet  learned  it  of  a  bird 
And  kept  its  music,  every  word. 
About  two  thousand  years  ago, 
A  little  flower,  as  white  as  snow, 
Swayed  in  the  silence  to  and  fro. 
Day  after  day  with  longing  eye, 
The  floweret  watched  the  narrow  sky, 
And  fleecy  clouds  that  floated  by. 
And  swiftly  o'er  its  petals  white, 
There  crept  a  blueness  like  the  light 
Of  skies,  upon  a  summer  night. 
And  in  its  chalice,  I  am  told, 
The  bonny  bell  was  formed  to  hold 
A  tiny  star  that  gleamed  like  gold. 

Not  known. 

83.  Render  a  passage  and  let  the  voice  make  es- 
pecially wide  intervals  or  changes  of  pitch.  Find  the 


74  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

cause  of  this  in  your  thinking,  and  definitely  separate 
each  successive  idea  from  the  last. 

Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks  — 
Ere  I  own  a  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me. 

Let  us  have  faith  that  right  makes  might;  and  in  that  faith  let 
us  to  the  end  dare  to  do  our  duty.  Abraham  Lincoln. 

MY  HEART'S  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS 

My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here; 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the  North, 
The  birthplace  of  valour,  the  country  of  worth; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  for  ever  I  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  covered  with  snow; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below; 
Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild  hanging  woods; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a-chasing  the  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 

Robert  Burns. 

84.  Render  a  passage,  varying  as  much  as  possible 
the  length  of  the  inflexion,  yet  keeping  all  simple  and 
truthful. 

The  key  to  every  man  is  his  thought. 

85.  Render  a  passage  freely  varying  the  direction  of 
your  inflexions. 

Roses  of  the  cheek  will  fade; 

Beauty  pass  away: 
Loving  words  and  gentle  deeds 

Never  can  decay. 

The  gentleman  is  tender  towards  the  bashful,  gentle  towards 
the  distant,  and  merciful  towards  the  absurd.  In  his  conversation 
he  will  remember  to  whom  he  is  speaking,  have  thought  for  all  his 
company,  and  avoid  allusions  that  would  give  pain  to  any  of  them, 
steering  away,  also,  from  topics  that  irritate. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  75 

When  he  does  a  favor  to  another  —  and  he  does  many  —  the 
gentleman  will  somehow  make  it  appear  that  he  is  receiving  the 
benefit  instead  of  conferring  it. 

He  is  never  mean  or  little  in  his  disputes.  Moreover,  he  shows 
that  he  has  an  intellect  above  the  average,  in  the  fact  that  he  never 
mistakes  personalities  and  sharp  sayings  for  arguments. 

John  Henry  Newman. 

86.  What   is   the   meaning   of  inflexion   in   general? 
Why  should   inflexions  be   as   straight   and  simple  as 
possible?     How  many  inflexions  do  you  make  in  some 
short  sentence?     How  many  kinds  of  inflexions?     What 
are  some  of  the  changes  in  the  use  of  inflexion? 

Habit  is  a  cable;   we  weave  a  thread  of  it  every  day  and  at  last 

we  cannot  break  it. 

Horace  Mann. 

I  slept,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  Beauty; 
I  woke,  and  found  that  life  was  Duty. 
Was  my  dream,  then,  a  shadowy  lie? 
Toil  on,  poor  heart,  unceasingly; 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  dream  to  be 
A  truth  and  noonday  light  to  thee. 

Lucy  Hooper,  1816-1841. 

87.  How  can  you  increase  your  earnestness  and  im- 
pressiveness  and  not  lessen  your  naturalness? 

THE  THINGS  THAT   COUNT 

Not  what  we  have,  but  what  we  use; 
Not  what  we  see,  but  what  we  choose  — 
These  are  the  things  that  mar  or  bless 
The  sum  of  human  happiness. 

The  things  near  by,  not  things  afar; 
Not  what  we  seem,  but  what  we  are  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  or  break, 
That  give  the  heart  its  joy  or  ache. 

Not  what  seems  fair,  but  what  is  true; 
Not  what  we  dream,  but  good  we  do  — 
These  are  the  things  that  shine  like  gems, 
Like  stars,  in  Fortune's  diadems. 

Not  as  we  take,  but  as  we  give; 
Not  as  we  pray,  but  as  we  live  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  for  peace, 
Both  now  and  after  Time  shall  cease. 

Clarence  Thomas  Urmy. 


76  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

88.  Read  this  passage,  first  with  great  dignity,  and 
then  with  a  lack  of  dignity,  giving  it  sarcastically  or 
mischievously.     Observe  the  effect  upon  your  inflexions. 

What  elements  of  delivery  do  you  especially  use  or 
emphasize  to  make  a  passage  more  dignified? 

You  cannot  dream  yourself  into  a  character;  you  must  hammer 
and  forge  one  yourself. 

Froude. 

Every  right  action  and  true  thought  sets  the  seal  of  its  beauty 
on  person  and  face. 

John  Ruskin. 

89.  Have  you  discovered  that  when  you  speak  loudly 
you  use  fewer  inflexions  and  changes  of  pitch?     What  is 
the  cause  of  this?     What  should  you  use  when  you  are 
truly  and  genuinely  in  earnest? 

Long  as  thine  art  shall  love  true  love, 
Long  as  thy  science  truth  shall  know, 
Long  as  thine  eagle  harms  no  dove, 
Long  as  thy  law  by  law  shall  grow, 
Long  as  thy  God  is  God  above, 
Thy  brother  every  man  below, 
So  long,  dear  land  of  all  my  love, 
Thy  name  shall  shine,  thy  fame  shall  grow. 
From  "  The  Centennial  Ode  "  (1876).  Sidney  Lanier. 

We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we  see  it. 
From  "  Guinevere."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

THE  INDIAN  BOASTER 

None  could  run  so  fast  as  he  could, 
None  could  dive  so  deep  as  he  could, 
None  could  swim  so  far  as  he  could, 
None  had  made  so  many  journeys, 
None  had  seen  so  many  wonders, 
As  this  wonderful  lagoo, 
As  this  marvelous  story-teller! 

Thus  his  name  became  a  byword 
And  a  jest  among  the  people; 

Allowing  inflexions  to  respond  directly  to  thinking  does  not  mean  that  we 
are  to  be  careless  in  their  use.  It  matters  a  great  deal  what  kind  of  inflexions 
we  use,  but  we  must  develop  vigor  of  thinking  as  the  direct  cause.  We  must 
use  strong  and  vigorous  inflexions  as  a  direct  agent  of  vigorous  thinking.  We 
can  never  improve  inflexions  by  imitating  the  inflexions  of  others  or  by  applying 
mechanical  rules. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  77 

And  whene'er  a  boastful  hunter 
Praised  his  own  address  too  highly, 
Or  a  warrior,  home  returning, 
Talked  too  much  of  his  achievements, 
All  his  hearers  cried,  "  lagoo! 
Here's  lagoo  come  among  us!  " 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

90.  Inflexion  is  the  natural  effect  or  sign  of  thinking. 
Can  you  genuinely  think  and  read  a  passage  allowing 
your  inflexions  to  respond  directly  and  naturally  to  the 
actions  of  your  mind?  Can  you  feel  the  direct  union 
between  your  action  of  thinking  and  your  inflexion? 

Thinking  is  the  talking  of  the  soul  with  itself. 

Plato. 
TWO   MINUTES 

He  was  a  third  lieutenant  in  the  engineers.  It  was  after  the  great 
mine  explosion  at  Petersburg,  and  the  engineers  were  at  that  time 
busily  engaged  in  using  all  their  devices  for  the  discovery  of  other 
mines.  They  had  found  one  in  process  of  construction  in  front  of 
General  Gracie's  lines. 

They  had  proceeded  at  once  to  run  a  deeper  tunnel  under  this 
one.  They  had  loaded  the  end  of  it,  just  underneath  the  enemy's 
works,  with  an  incredible  amount  of  gunpowder,  and  on  that  morn- 
ing it  was  to  be  fired.  A  slow-match  had  been  brought  from  the 
powder  to  the  mouth  of  the  mine.  It  was  lighted,  and  a  period  of 
waiting  ensued. 

The  match  had  evidently  gone  out.  Where,  nobody  knew  or 
could  guess.  The  general  in  command  of  that  part  of  the  line 
turned  to  the  captain  of  engineers  and  said:  "  The  mine  must  be 
blown  up  at  once;  will  you  go  in  and  light  the  match  again?  " 

The  captain  hesitated,  saying:  "  I  don't  know;  it  may  go  off  at 
any  moment." 

Thereupon  the  third  lieutenant  stepped  forward,  touched  his 
cap  to  the  general,  and  said:  "  With  your  permission,  I  will  go  in 
and  fire  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  general;   "  go." 

The  man  picked  up  the  torch  and  started  into  the  mine.  It  seems 
that  the  slow-match  had  gone  out  within  a  very  short  distance  of 
the  powder  magazine.  But  disregarding  that,  he  touched  the  torch 
to  it,  set  it  off  again,  and  ran  with  all  his  might  for  the  mouth  of  the 
opening. 

It  was  two  minutes'  work.  The  mine  went  off  just  before  he 
reached  the  outlet,  and  the  air  pressure  literally  blew  him  out  of  it. 
He  fell  sprawling  on  his  face.  He  was  considerably  bruised  and 
scratched  in  his  contact  with  the  gravelly  ground,  but  he  was  not 
injured  in  any  serious  way. 


78  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Picking  himself  up,  grimed  as  he  was,  he  took  off  his  cap,  and 
dusting  himself  like  a  school-boy  that  had  fallen  in  the  street,  he 
approached  the  commanding  officer  and  said:  "  General,  I  have  the 
honor  to  report  that  I  have  fired  the  mine,  and  that  it  has  gone  off." 

The  general  touched  his  cap  and  replied:  "  I  had  observed  that 
fact,  and  I  thank  you  very  much.  I  beg  to  say  that  I  will  make 
an  official  report  of  the  circumstance." 

Two  days  later  we  all  touched  our  caps  to  a  freshly  made  brigadier- 
general  of  the  engineers.  The  captain  that  had  hesitated  remained 
a  captain. 

George  Cary  Eggleston,  1839-1911. 

XXVI.   SUCCESSION    AND    SEQUENCE    OF    IDEAS    AND 
MODULATIONS 

Look  on  this  cast,  and  know  the  hand 

That  bore  a  nation  in  its  hold: 
From  this  mute  witness  understand 

What  Lincoln  was,  —  how  large  of  mold 
The  man  who  sped  the  woodman's  team, 

And  deepest  sunk  the  plowman's  share, 
And  pushed  the  laden  raft  astream, 

Of  fate  before  him  unaware. 
The  Hand  of  Lincoln.  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  1833-1908. 

91.  Render  a  passage  naturally,  but  at  the  same  time 
increase   the  rhythm  —  that   is,   the  number  and   the 
length  of  the  pauses  and  the  vigor  of  the  phrase  accents. 

Go  where  he  will,  the  wise  man  is  at  home  — 
His  hearth,  the  earth;   his  hall,  the  azure  dome. 
Where  his  clear  spirit  leads  him,  there  his  road, 
By  God's  own  light  illumined  and  foreshowed. 
"  On  Henry  Thoreau."  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

92.  Render  a  passage,  at  the  same  time  using  many 
changes  of  pitch  and  long  inflexions  as  a  means  of  ex- 
pressing  distinction   between   your   successive   ideas  — 
that  is,  extend  the  melody.     Note  the  necessity,  also,  of 
stronger   rhythm  —  that  is,   of  longer  pauses   and  in- 
crease of  touch.     As  you  increase  one  voice  modulation 
other  modulations  must  also  be  increased  in  harmony. 

The  teacher  should  lead  students  to  observe,  in  the  natural  rendering  of 
short  passages,  the  infinite  variety  of  inflexions  —  how  they  vary  in  direction 
and  in  length;  how  they  combine  with  changes  of  pitch,  pauses,  and  other 
modulations.  It  should  also  be  noticed  that  in  all  their  complexity  they  are 
simply  natural  signs  of  the  way  we  think  and  feel.  This  should  be  illustrated 
by  some  short  and  simple  story,  such  as  p.  156. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  79 

He  who  wishes  to  secure  the  good  of  others,  has  already  secured 
his  own. 

Confucius. 

Ill  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay. 

Oliver  Goldsmith, 

93.  Render  a  passage  and  show  how  an  emphatic 
pause  is  a  means  of  uniting  the  rhythmic  with  the 
melodic  modulations. 

Never  a  night  so  dark  and  drear, 

Never  a  cruel  wind  so  chill, 
But  loving  hearts  can  make  it  clear, 

And  find  some  comfort  in  it  still. 

Mrs.  Mary  Mapcs  Dodge. 

94.  Read  a  passage  and  harmoniously  unite  all  modu- 
lations. 

THE   GOOD  SHEPHERD 

I  am  the  good  shepherd:  the  good  shepherd  giveth  his  life  for 
the  sheep.  He  that  is  a  hireling  and  not  the  shepherd,  whose  own 
the  sheep  are  not,  seeth  the  wolf  corning  and  leaveth  the  sheep  and 
fleeth:  and  the  wolf  catcheth  them  and  scattereth  the  sheep.  The 
hireling  fleeth  because  he  is  a  hireling,  and  careth  not  for  the  sheep. 
I  am  the  good  shepherd;  and  I  know  mine  own  and  mine  own 
know  me,  even  as  the  Father  knoweth  me,  and  I  know  the  Father; 
and  I  lay  down  my  life  for  the  sheep. 
John  x  :  11-15. 

POCAHONTAS 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword  wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight; 
round  him  press  a  countless  horde,  he  is  but  a  single  knight.  Hark ! 
a  cry  of  triumph  shrill  through  the  wilderness  resounds,  as,  with 
twenty  bleeding  wounds,  sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still. 

Now  they  heap  the  funeral  pyre,  and  the  torch  of  death  they  light. 
Ah!  'tis  hard  to  die  by  fire!  Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight? 
Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry  wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd, 
cold  the  victim's  mien  and  proud,  and  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Pause  and  touch  are  more  the  elements  of  rhythm,  while  change  of  pitch 
and  inflexion  are  more  the  elements  of  melody.  Rhythm  reveals  the  generic 
pulsations  of  thought  and  feeling  while  melody  reveals  more  the  rational  or  logi- 
cal elements  in  thinking.  The  student  can  easily  take  a  passage  and  accentu- 
ate first  the  rhythm,  and  then  the  melody  or  range  of  voice  and  find  the  truth 
of  this  statement,  and  lastly  show  by  union  of  the  two  that  they  are  not  an- 
tagonistic. 


80  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart?  Who  avert  the  murderous 
blade?  From  the  throng  with  sudden  start  see,  there  springs  an 
Indian  maid.  Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight:  "  Loose  the 
chain,  unbind  the  ring !  I  am  the  daughter  of  the  king,  and  I  claim 
the  Indian  right!  " 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings  lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife;  fondly 
to  his  heart  she  clings,  and  her  bosom  guards  his  life! 

In  the  woods  of  Powhattan,  still  'tis  told  by  Indian  fires  how  a 
daughter  of  their  sires  saved  a  captive  Englishman. 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray,  1811-1863. 

FOUR-LEAF   CLOVER 

I  know  a  place  where  the  sun  is  like  gold, 
And  the  cherry  blooms  burst  with  snow, 

And  down  underneath  is  the  loveliest  nook, 
Where  the  four-leaf  clovers  grow. 

One  leaf  is  for  hope,  and  one  is  for  faith, 

And  one  is  for  love,  you  know, 
And  God  put  another  in  for  luck,  — 

If  you  search,  you  will  find  where  they  grow. 

But  you  must  have  hope,  and  you  must  have  faith, 
You  must  love  and  be  strong  —  and  so, 

If  you  work,  if  you  wait,  you  will  find  the  place 
Where  the  four-leaf  clovers  grow. 

Mrs.  Ella  Higginson. 

SIMPLICITY   OF  LINCOLN 

In  Lincoln  was  vindicated  the  greatness  of  real  goodness  —  and 
the  goodness  of  real  greatness.  The  twain  were  one  flesh. 

Not  one  of  all  the  multitudes  who  stood  and  looked  up  to  him 

.    for  direction,  with  such  loving  and  implicit  trust,  can  tell  you  to- 

J     day,  whether  the  wise  judgments  that  he  gave  came  mostly  from  a 

wise  head  or  a  sound  heart.     If  you  ask  them,  they  are  puzzled. 

There  are  men  as  good  as  he,  but  they  do  bad  things;  there  are  men 

as  intelligent  as  he,  but  they  do  foolish  things.     In  him  goodness 

and  intelligence  combined  made  their  best  result  of  wisdom. 

For  perfect  truth  consists  not  merely  in  the  right  constituents  of 
character,  but  is  their  right  and  intimate  conjunction.  The  union 
of  the  mental  and  moral  into  a  life  of  admirable  simplicity  is  what 
we  most  admire  in  children,  but  in  them  it  is  unsettled  and  un- 
practical. But  where  it  is  preserved  into  a  manhood,  deepened 
into  reliability  and  maturity,  it  is  that  glorified  child-likeness,  that 
high  and  revered  simplicity,  which  shames  and  baffles  the  most  ac- 
complished astuteness,  and  is  chosen  by  God  to  fill  His  purposes  when 
He  needs  a  ruler  for  His  people  of  faithful  and  true  heart,  sucb  as  he 
had  who  was  our  President. 

Phillips  Brooks. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  81 

95.  Render  some  story  or  important  passage,  and 
while  using  all  of  the  modulations  harmoniously,  note 
where  any  one  may  be  increased,  and  the  effect  of  this 
in  the  harmonious  expression  of  the  passage. 

DEDICATION   OF   GETTYSBURG   CEMETERY 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought  forth  upon 
this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty,  and  dedicated  to 
ffie~proposition  that  'all  men  are  created  equal.  Now  we  are  en- 
gaged in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation  —  or  any 
nation  so  conceived,  and  so  dedicated  — 'can  long  endure. 

We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war.  We  are  met  to 
dedicate  a  portion  of  it  as  the  final  resting-place  of  those  who  have 
given  their  lives  that  that  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether 
fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  do  this.  But  in  a  larger  sense, 
we  cannot  dedicate;  we  cannot  consecrate;  we  cannot  hallow  this 
ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here, 
have  consecrated  it,  far  above  our  power  to  add  or  to  detract. 

The  world  will  little  note,  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here; 
but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  for  us,  the  living, 
rather  to  be  dedicated,  here,  to  the  unfinished  work  that  they  have 
thus  far  so  nobly  carried  on.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated 
to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us;  that  from  these  honored  dead 
we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they  here  gave 
the  last  full  measure  of  devotion;  that  we  here  highly  resolve  that 
these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain;  that  the  nation  shall,  under 
God,  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom;  and  that  government  of  the 
people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the 

earth. 

Abraham  Lincoln. 

IN  SCHOOL-DAYS 

Still  sits  the  school-house  by  the  road,  a  ragged  beggar  sunning; 
around  it  still  the  sumachs  grow,  and  blackberry-vines  are  running. 

Within,  the  master's  desk  is  seen,  deep  scarred  by  raps  official;  the 
warping  floor,  the  battered  seats,  the  jack-knife's  carved  initial; 

The  charcoal  frescos  on  its  wall;  its  door's  worn  sill,  betraying 
the  feet  that,  creeping  slow  to  school,  went  storming  out  to  playing! 

Long  years  ago  a  winter  sun  shone  over  it  at  setting;  lit  up  its 
western  window-panes,  and  low  eaves'  icy  fretting. 

It  touched  the  tangled  golden  curls,  and  brown  eyes  full  of  griev- 
ing, of  one  who  still  her  steps  delayed  when  all  the  school  were 
leaving. 

For  near  her  stood  the  little  boy  her  childish  favor  singled:  his 
cap  pulled  low  upon  a  face  where  pride  and  shame  were  mingled. 

Pushing  with  restless  feet  the  snow  to  right  and  left,  he  lingered; 
*•-  as  restlessly  her  tiny  hands  the  blue-checked  apron  fingered. 


82  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes;  he  felt  the  soft  hand's  light  caressing, 
and  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice,  as  if  a  fault  confessing. 

"  I'm  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word:  I  hate  to  go  above  you,  be- 
cause," —  the  brown  eyes  lower  fell,  —  "  because,  you  see,  I  love 
you! " 

Still  memory  to  a  gray-haired  man  that  sweet  child-face  is  showing. 
Dear  girl!  the  grasses  on  her  grave  have  forty  years  been  growing! 

He  lives  to  learn,  in  life's  hard  school,  how  few  who  pass  above 
him  lament  their  triumph  and  his  loss,  like  her,  —  because  they  love 
him.  John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  1807-1892. 

V 
IMPRESSIONS   THAT    COME  OF  THEMSELVES 

XXVII.    DELIBERATIVE    AND    SPONTANEOUS    ACTIONS 
OF  THE  MIND 

May  shall  make  the  wild  flowers  tell 
Where  the  shining  snowflakes  fell; 
Just  as  though  each  snowflake's  heart, 
By  some  secret,  magic  art, 
Were  transmuted  to  a  flower 
In  the  sunlight  and  the  shower. 
From  "  May."  Frank  Dempster  Sherman. 

96.  When  you  read  do  you  think  merely  about  the 
words  and  the  abstract  meaning,  or  does  your  mind  of 
itself  bring  up  various  sounds,  pictures,  scenes,  and  ob- 
jects which  you  enjoy?     In  reading  these  two  lines  do 
you  hear  and  feel  the  wind,  see  and  hear  the  leaves,  feel 
the  sense  of  movement  and  realize  all  in  one  place? 

The  soft  wind  and  the  yellow  leaves 
Are  having  their  last  dance  together. 

Mrs.  Harriet  King. 

97.  If  you  read  this  little  poem  merely  to  get  someone 
to  understand  the  meaning,  do  you  miss  anything?     If 
you  read  it  again  allowing  your  mind  to  picture  the 

The  teacher  should  carefully  observe  pupils  and  secure  in  some  way  freedom 
from  all  the  labored  or  merely  mechanical  attention  to  words.  Lead  students 
to  discover  how  their  own  minds  will  of  themselves  create  scenes.  Certain 
important  actions  of  the  mind  must  come  spontaneously  as  a  part  of  the  en- 
joyable participation  in  the  thought.  Poetic  ideality  and  feeling  cannot  be 
mechanically  forced.  They  must  come  of  themselves. 

In  the  same  way  all  expression  must  in  a  great  measure  be  spontaneous. 
We  can  volitionally  increase  attention  and  definitely  focus  our  minds  upon 
points,  but  this  very  act  of  concentration  must  allow  great  mental  and  emo- 
tional freedom. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  83 

scene  and  feel  it,  do  you  recognize  something  that  deeply 
affects  your  voice  but  which  you  cannot  name  and  can- 
not mechanically  or  voluntarily  control? 

Out  of  water,  clear  and  white, 
Who  has  built  a  bridge  so  bright? 
Light  the  fairy  arches  rise, 
Tinted  with  their  glowing  dyes — 
Gold  and  red  and  azure  blue, 
Like  the  sunset's  rarest  hue. 
Right  against  the  dusky  sky 
Shines  the  pathway,  fair  and  high. 

Not  known. 

THE  POET  TO   THE  CLOUD 

Soft  white  cloud  in  the  sky, 

Wise  are  you  in  your  day; 
One  side  turned  toward  God  on  high, 

One  toward  the  world  alway. 
Soft  white  cloud,  I  too 
Would  bear  me  like  to  you. 

So  might  I  secrets  learn 

From  heaven,  and  tell  to  men; 
And  so  might  their  spirits  beat  and  burn 

To  make  it  their  country  then. 
Soft  white  cloud,  make  mine 
Such  manner  of  life  as  thine. 

From  "  Lyrics  of  Brotherhood."  Richard  Burton. 

Copyright,  Small,  Maynard  &  Co. 

98.  Choose  and  render  what  you  regard  as  some  very 
imaginative  line  or  passage. 

Little  brook!     Little  brook! 
You  have  such  a  happy  look — 

Such  a  very  merry  manner,  as  you  swerve  and  curve  and  crook — 
And  your  ripples,  one  and  one, 
Reach  each  other's  hands  and  run 
Like  laughing  little  children  in  the  sun! 

From  "  The  Brook-Song,"  in  "  Rhymes  James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

of  Childhood."     Copyright,   1900. 

By  permission  of  the  publishers,  The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company. 

99.  How  does  the  imagination  act?     What  are  some 
of  its  functions  in  reading  and  talking?     What  are  some 
of  the  signs  of  its  presence? 

You  will  find  poetry  nowhere  unless  you  bring  some  with  you. 

Joubert. 


84  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

In  the  blackest  soils  grow  the  fairest  flowers,  and  the  loftiest  and 
strongest  trees  spring  heavenward  among  the  rocks. 

Josiah  Gilbert  Holland. 

A  FINE  DAY 

Clear  had  the  day  been  from  the  dawn, 

All  checkered  was  the  sky, 
Thin  clouds  like  scarfs  of  cobweb  lawn 

Veil'd  heaven's  most  glorious  eye. 
The  wind  had  no  more  strength  than  this, 

That  leisurely  it  blew, 
To  make  one  leaf  the  next  to  kiss 

That  closely  by  it  grew. 

Michael  Drayton,  1563-1631. 

FRINGED   GENTIAN 

God  made  a  little  gentian; 
It  tried  to  be  a  rose 

And  failed,  and  all  the  summer  laughed: 
But  just  before  the  snows 
There  came  a  purple  creature 
That  ravished  all  the  hill; 
And  summer  hid  her  forehead, 
And  mockery  was  still. 
The  frosts  were  her  condition; 
The  Tyrian  would  not  come 
Until  the  North  evoked  it:  — 
"  Creator!  shall  I  bloom  ?  " 
"  Nature."  Emily  Dickinson. 

THE  AWAKENING  OF  SPRING 

Now  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow, 
Now  burgeons  every  maze  of  quick 
About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 

By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

Now  rings  the  woodland  loud  and  long, 

The  distance  takes  a  lovelier  hue, 

And  drown'd  in  yonder  living  blue 
The  lark  becomes  a  sightless  song. 

Now  dance  the  lights  on  lawn  and  lea, 

The  flocks  are  whiter  down  the  vale, 

And  milkier  every  milky  sail 
On  winding  stream  or  distant  sea; 

Where  now  the  sea-mew  pipes,  or  dives 
In  yonder  greening  gleam,  and  fly 
The  happy  birds,  that  change  their  sky 

To  build  and  brood;  that  live  their  lives 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  85 

From  land  to  land;   and  in  my  breast, 

Spring  wakens  too;   and  my  regret 

Becomes  an  April  violet, 
And  buds,  and  blossoms  like  the  rest. 
"  In  Memoriam,"  CX V.  Alfred  Tennyson. 

100.  Which  of  these  two  poems  has  more  imagina- 
tion; which  more  fancy? 

What  are  some  of  the  differences  between  imagina- 
tion and  fancy? 

THE   WATER-LILY 

Whence,  O  fragrant  form  of  light, 
Hast  thou  drifted  through  the  night, 
Swanlike,  to  a  leafy  nest, 
On  the  restless  waves,  at  rest? 

Art  thou  from  the  snowy  zone 
Of  a  mountain-summit  blown, 
Or  the  blossom  of  a  dream, 
Fashioned  in  the  foamy  stream? 

Nay;   methinks  the  maiden  moon, 
When  the  daylight  came  too  soon, 
Fleeting  from  her  bath  to  hide, 
Left  her  garment  in  the  tide. 

John  Banister  Tabb. 

WHAT   MAY  HAPPEN  TO   A  THIMBLE 

Come  about  the  meadow,  hunt  here  and  there,  where's  Mother's 
thimble?  Can  you  tell  where?  Jane  saw  her  wearing  it,  Fan  saw 
it  fall,  Ned  isn't  sure  that  she  dropp'd  it  at  all. 

Has  a  mouse  carried  it  down  to  her  hole  —  home  full  of  twilight, 
shady,  small  soul?  Can  she  be  darning  there,  ere  the  light  fails, 
small  ragged  stockings,  tiny  torn  tails? 

Did  a  finch  fly  with  it  into  the  hedge,  or  a  reed-warbler  down  in 
the  sedge?  Are  they  carousing  there,  all  the  night  through?  Such 
a  great  goblet,  brimful  of  dew! 

Have  beetles  crept  with  it  where  oak  roots  hide?  There  have 
they  settled  it  down  on  its  side?  Neat  little  kennel,  so  cosy  and 
dark,  has  one  crept  into  it,  trying  to  bark? 

Have  the  ants  cover'd  it  with  straw  and  sand?  Roomy  bell- 
tent  for  them,  so  tall  and  grand;  where  the  red  soldier-ants  lie, 
loll,  and  lean* —  while  the  blacks  steadily  build  for  their  queen. 

Has  a  huge  dragon-fly  borne  it  (how  cool!)  to  his  snug  dressing- 
room,  by  the  clear  pool?  There  will  he  try  it  on,  for  a  new  hat — 
nobody  watching  but  one  water-rat? 

JDid  the  flowers  fight  for  it,  while,  undecried,  one  selfish  daisy 


86  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

slipp'd  it  aside;  now  has  she  plunged  it  in  close  to  her  feet  —  nice 
private  water- tank  for  summer  heat? 

Did  spiders  snatch  at  it,  wanting  to  look  at  the  bright  pebbles 
which  lie  in  the  brook?  Now  are  they  using  it  (nobody  knows!), 
safe  little  diving-bell,  shutting  so  close? 

Did  a  rash  squirrel  there,  wanting  to  dine,  think  it  some  foreign 
nut,  dainty  and  fine.  Can  he  have  swallow'd  it,  up  in  that  oak? 
We,  if  we  listen,  shall  soon  hear  him  choke. 

Has  it  been  buried  by  cross  imps  and  hags,  wanting  to  see  us 
like  beggars  in  rags?  Or  have  fays  hidden  it,  lest  we  should  be 
tortured  with  needlework  after  our  tea? 

Hunt  for  it,  hope  for  it,  all  through  the  moss;  dip  for  it,  grope 
for  it  —  'tis  such  a  loss!  Jane  finds  a  drop  of  dew,  Fan  finds  a 
stone;  I  find  the  thimble,  which  is  Mother's  own! 

Run  with  it,  fly  with  it  —  don't  let  it  fall;  all  did  their  best  for 
it  —  Mother  thanks  all.      Just  as  we   give  it  her,  —  think  what 
a  shame !  —  Ned  says  he's  sure  that  it  isn't  the  same ! 
From  "  Child  World."  Hannah  F.  Gould. 

101.  What  do  you  consider  some  of  the  differences 
between  prose  and  poetry?  The  beautiful  and  the  sub- 
lime? What  are  the  chief  differences  in  your  mental 
actions  and  the  modulations  of  your  voice  in  rendering 
these  passages? 

Truth  is  the  beginning  of  all  good;  and  self-love  the  greatest 
of  all  evils. 

Plato. 

THE  WATER  LILY 

O  Star  on  the  breast  of  the  river! 

0  Marvel  of  bloom  and  grace ! 
Did  you  fall  right  down  from  heaven 

Out  of  the  sweetest  place? 
You  are  white  as  the  thoughts  of  an  angel, 

Your  heart  is  steeped  in  the  sun; 
Did  you  grow  in  the  Golden  City, 

My  pure  and  radiant  one? 

Nay,  nay,  I  fell  not  out  of  heaven; 

None  gave  me  my  saintly  white; 
It  slowly  grew  from  the  darkness, 

Down  in  the  dreary  night, 
From  the  ooze  of  the  silent  river 

1  won  my  glory  and  grace. 
White  souls  fall  not,  O  my  poet, 

They  rise  —  to  the  sweetest  place. 

M.  F.  Butts. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  87 

102.  Render  the  same  passage  as  commonplace,  then 
as  ideal;  as  tame,  then  as  important;  as  abstract  and 
isolated,  then  with  atmosphere  and  feeling;  and  notice 
the  difference  in  your  mental  action  and  vocal  ex- 
pression. 

Contrast  also  different  passages  with  different  kinds 
of  imaginative  action  or  degrees  of  poetic  elevation. 
Or  can  you  give  "  The  Vesture  of  the  Soul,"  beginning 
with  the  commonplace  and  rising  to  a  high  degree  of 
poetic  imagination  in  the  last  stanzas?  , 

Not  failure,  but  low  aim,  is  crime. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Morning  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady, 

To  Arcady,  to  Arcady; 
Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady, 

Where  all  the  leaves  are  merry? 

Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady? 

The  spring  is  rustling  in  the  tree,  — 
The  tree  the  wind  is  blowing  through,  — 

It  sets  the  blossoms  flickering  white. 

I  knew  not  skies  could  burn  so  blue 

Nor  any  breezes  blow  so  light. 
They  blow  an  old-time  way  for  me, 

Across  the  world  to  Arcady.  .  ,   . 
From  "  The  Way  to  Arcady."  Henry  Cuyler  Bunner,  1855-1896. 

DARTSIDE 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  say,  green  leaves, 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  say; 
But  I  know  that  there  is  a  spirit  in  you, 

And  a  word  in  you  this  day. 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  say,  rosy  rocks, 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  say: 
But  I  know  that  there  is  a  spirit  in  you, 

And  a  word  in  you  this  day. 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  say,  brown  streams, 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  say: 
But  I  know  that  in  you  too  a  spirit  doth  live, 

And  a  word  doth  speak  this  day. 


88  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Oh,  green  is  the  color  of  faith  and  truth, 
And  rose  the  color  of  love  and  youth, 

And  brown  of  the  fruitful  clay. 
Sweet  earth  is  faithful,  and  fruitful,  and  young, 
And  her  bridal  day  shall  come  ere  long, 
And  you  shall  know  what  the  rocks  and  the  streams 

And  the  whispering  woodlands  say." 

Charles  Kingsley. 

THE  VESTURE   OF  THE   SOUL 

I  pitied  one  whose  tattered  dress 

Was  patched,  and  stained  with  dust  and  rain; 

He  smiled  on  me;   I  could  not  guess 

The  viewless  spirit's  wide  domain. 

He  said,  "  The  royal  robe  I  wear 
Trails  all  along  the  fields  of  light: 
Its  silent  blue  and  silver  bear 
For  gems  the  starry  dust  of  night. 

"  The  breath  of  Joy  unceasingly 
Waves  to  and  fro  its  folds  starlit, 
And  far  beyond  earth's  misery 
I  live  and  breathe  the  joy  of  it." 
From  "  Homeward  Songs  By  The  Way."  A.  E. 

103.   What  are  some  of  the  imaginative  or  poetic 
points  in  this  beautiful  passage? 

A  JOURNEY 

I  never  saw  the  hills  so  far 

And  blue,  the  way  the  pictures  are; 

And  flowers,  flowers  growing  thick, 
But  not  a  one  for  me  to  pick! 

The  land  was  running  from  the  train 
All  blurry  through  the  window-pane; 

And  then  it  all  looked  flat  and  still, 
When  up  there  jumped  a  little  hill! 

I  saw  the  windows  and  the  spires, 
And  sparrows  sitting  on  the  wires; 

And  fences  running  up  and  down; 

And  then  we  cut  straight  through  a  town. 

I  saw  a  valley,  like  a  cup;    _ 

And  ponds  that  twinkled,  and  dried  up. 

I  counted  meadows  that  were  burnt; 

And  there  were  trees,  and  then  there  weren't. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  89 

We  crossed  the  bridges  with  a  roar, 
Then  hummed  the  way  we  went  before. 

And  tunnels  made  it  dark  and  light 
Like  open-work  of  day  and  night; 

Until  I  saw  the  chimneys  rise, 

And  lights  and  lights  and  lights,  like  eyes, 

And  when  they  took  me  through  the  door, 
I  heard  it  all  begin  to  roar,  — 

I  thought,  as  far  as  I  could  see, 
That  everybody  wanted  me! 

Josephine  Preston  Peabody. 

THE  DRAGON-FLY 

"  To-day  I  saw  the  dragon-fly 

Come  from  the  wells  where  he  did  lie. 

"  An  inner  impulse  rent  the  veil 
Of  his  old  husk:   from  head  to  tail 
Came  out  clear  plates  of  sapphire  mail. 

"  He  dried  his  wings:  like  gauze  they  grew; 
Thro'  crofts  and  pastures  wet  with  dew 
A  living  flash  of  light  he  flew.  " 
From  "  The  Two  Voices."  Alfred  Tennyson. 


XXVIII.    DRAMATIC  INSIGHT 

Came  the  relief,  "  What,  sentry,  ho! 

How  passed  the  night  through  thy  long  waking?  " 
"  Cold,  cheerless,  dark,  —  as  may  befit 

The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  breaking." 

"  No  sight?  no  sound?  "     "  No;   nothing  save 

The  plover  from  the  marshes  calling. 
And  in  yon  western  sky,  about 

An  hour  ago,  a  star  was  falling." 

"  A  star?     There's  nothing  strange  in  that." 

"  No,  nothing;  but,  above  the  thicket, 
Somehow  it  seemed  to  me  that  God 

Somewhere  had  just  relieved  a  picket." 

Bret  Harte. 

104.  Render  some  passage  realizing  each  successive 
character  that  speaks.  Change  naturally  from  one 
quotation  to  another. 


90  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

PRELUDE  TO   DRAMATIC  IDYLS 

"  You  are  sick,  that's  sure,"  they  say.  "  Sick  of  what?  "  they 
disagree.  "  'Tis  the  brain,"  thinks  Doctor  A;  "  'Tis  the  heart," 
holds  Doctor  B.  "The  liver,  —  my  life  I'd  lay."  "The  lungs!" 
"  The  lights!  "  Ah  me!  So  ignorant  of  man's  whole  bodily  organs 
plain  to  see,  —  so  sage  and  certain,  frank  and  free,  about  what's 
under  lock  and  key  —  man's  soul. 

Browning. 

THE  BUTTERFLY  AND   THE  BEE 

Methought  I  heard  a  butterfly 

Say  to  a  labouring  bee: 
"  Thou  hast  no  colours  of  the  sky 
On  painted  wings  like  me.  " 

"  Poor  child  of  vanity,  those  dyes, 

And  colours  bright  and  rare," 
With  mild  reproof,  the  bee  replies, 
"  Are  all  beneath  my  care. 

"  Content  I  toil  from  morn  to  eve, 

And  scorning  idleness, 
To  tribes  of  gaudy  sloth  I  leave 

The  vanity  of  dress.  " 

William  Lisle  Bowles,  1762-1850. 


105.  At  what  points  in  the  following  story  must  you 
be  yourself;  and  at  what  points  must  you  be  somebody 
else?  Why  are  both  of  these  important? 

THE  LEGEND   OF   SAINT   CHRISTOPHER 

For  many  a  year  Saint  Christopher 

Served  God  in  many  a  land; 
And  master  painters  drew  his  face, 

With  loving  heart  and  hand, 
On  altar  fronts  and  churches'  walls; 

And  peasants  used  to  say, 
To  look  on  good  Saint  Christopher 

Brought  luck  for  all  the  day. 

For  many  a  year,  in  lowly  hut, 

The  giant  dwelt  content 
Upon  the  bank,  and  back  and  forth 

Across  the  stream  he  went; 
And  on  his  giant  shoulders  bore 

All  travelers  who  came, 
By  night  or  day,  or  rich  or  poor, 

All  in  King  Jesus'  name. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  91 

But  much  he  doubted  if  the  King 

His  work  would  note  or  know, 
And  often  with  a  weary  heart 

He  waded  to  and  fro. 
One  night,  as  wrapped  in  sleep  he  lay 

He  sudden  heard  a  call  — 
"  O  Christopher,  come,  carry  me!  " 

He  sprang,  looked  out,  but  all 

Was  dark  and  silent  on  the  shore. 

"  It  must  be  that  I  dreamed," 
He  said,  and  laid  him  down  again; 

But  instantly  there  seemed 
Again  the  feeble,  distant  cry, — 

"  Oh,  come  and  carry  me!  " 
Again  he  sprang  and  looked;  again 

No  living  thing  could  see. 

The  third  time  came  the  plaintive  voice, 

Like  infant's  soft  and  weak; 
With  lantern  strode  the  giant  forth, 

More  carefully  to  seek. 
Down  on  the  bank  a  little  child 

He  found  —  a  piteous  sight  — 
Who,  weeping,  earnestly  implored 

To  cross  that  very  night. 

With  gruff  good  will  he  picked  him  up, 

And  on  his  neck  to  ride 
He  tossed  him  as  men  play  with  babes, 

And  plunged  into  the  tide. 
But  as  the  water  closed  around 

His  knees,  the  infant's  weight 
Grew  heavier  and  heavier, 

Until  it  was  so  great 

The  giant  scarce  could  stand  upright, 

His  staff  shook  in  his  hand, 
His  mighty  knees  bent  under  him, 

He  barely  reached  the  land. 
And,  staggering,  set  the  infant  down 

And  turned  to  scan  his  face; 
When,  lo!  he  saw  a  halo  bright 

Which  lit  up  all  the  place. 

Then  Christopher  fell  down,  afraid 

At  marvel  of  the  thing, 
And  dreamed  not  that  it  was  the  face 

Of  Jesus  Christ,  his  King, 


92  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Until  the  infant  spoke,  and  said, 
"  O  Christopher,  behold! 
I  am  the  Lord  whom  thou  hast  served. 
Rise  up,  be  glad  and  bold! 

"  For  I  have  seen,  and  noted  well, 

Thy  works  of  charity; 
And  that  thou  art  my  servant  good 

A  token  thou  shalt  see. 
Plant  firmly  here  upon  this  bank 

Thy  stalwart  staff  of  pine, 
And  it  shall  blossom  and  bear  fruit, 

This  very  hour,  in  sign.  " 

Then  vanishing,  the  infant  smiled. 

The  giant  left  alone, 
Saw  on  the  bank,  with  luscious  dates, 

His  stout  pine  staff  bent  down. 

I  think  the  lesson  is  as  good 

To-day  as  it  was  then  — 
As  good  to  us  called  Christians 

As  to  the  heathen  men,  — 
The  lesson  of  Saint  Christopher, 

Who  spent  his  strength  for  others, 
And  saved  his  soul  by  working  hard 

To  help  and  save  his  brothers! 
Copyright,  1876,  by  Roberts  Bros.  Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

106.   When  would  you  read  the  following  passages 
alike,  and  when  differently? 

Sailing  away,  losing  the  breath  of  the  shores  in  May. 
From  "  Skipper  Ben."  Lucy  Larcom. 

ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

Heroic  soul,  in  homely  garb  half  hid, 
Sincere,  sagacious,  melancholy,  quaint, 
What  he  endured,  no  less  than  what  he  did, 
Has  reared  his  monument  and  crowned  him  saint. 
From  "  Epigrams."  John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 

Here  the  poppy  hosts  assemble, 
How  they  startle,  how  they  tremble ! 
All  their  royal  hoods  unpinned, 
Blow  out  lightly  in  the  wind. 
From  "  In  Poppy  Fields."  Edwin  Markham. 

If  students  render  alike  passages  that  are  widely  contrasted,  it  indicates  a 
a  lack  of  imagination  and  realization. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  93 

107.  In  addition  to  your  realizing  the  picture  of  the 
whole  poem,  do  the  "  oak,"  the  "  gentle  flow  of  the 
stream,"  and  each  succeeding  object  slightly  change  the 
picture  in  your  mind  as  well  as  your  feeling,  and  do 
these  changes  cause  a  change  in  the  quality  of  your 
voice? 

Render  other  passages  giving  the  general  feeling  and 
spirit  of  the  whole,  intensely;  and  yet  freely  allowing 
each  idea  to  vary  definitely  the  general  feeling.  The 
feeling  should  be  rational  and  should  always  move  with 
equal  step  with  the  thinking. 

A  RIVER   SONG  . 
Down  among  the  river  mosses, 

By  the  willowed  tide, 
Stands  a  giant  oak,  and  tosses 

Branches  far  and  wide, 
Where  the  bridge  of  ivy  crosses 

And  the  shadows  glide. 

Underneath,  the  water  passes 

With  a  gentle  flow, 
Washing  through  the  slender  grasses 

And  the  lilies  low; 
While  the  weed  in  verdant  masses 

Swayeth  to  and  fro. 

Rushy  coves  and  sandy  shallows 

Tempt  the  lingering  tide, 
Where  at  morn  the  early  swallows 

Twitter  by  the  side, 
And  the  fish  in  deeper  hollows 

Dart  and  glance  and  glide. 

Blue  forget-me-nots  are  braiding 

In  a  garland  sweet, 
Where,  in  flush  of  summer  wading 

With  uncovered  feet, 
Children  tend  the  merry  lading 

Of  a  tiny  fleet. 

"  River,  washing  through  the  rushes, 

Bring  them  joy  to-day; 
Bring  a  fount  of  love  that  gushes 

Round  their  gladsome  way; 
Bring  them  mothers'  love  that  hushes 

Slumber  after  play." 

Arthur  L.  Salmon. 


94  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

HOME  THOUGHTS  FROM  ABROAD 

Oh,  to  be  in  England 

Now  that  April's  there, 

And  whoever  wakes  in  England 

Sees,  some  morning,  unaware, 

That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brushwood  sheaf 

Round  the  elm-tree  bole  are  in  tiny  leaf, 

While  the  chaffinch  sings  on  the  orchard  bough 

In  England  —  now! 

And  after  April,  when  May  follows, 

And  the  white-throat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows  — 

Hark!  where  my  blossomed  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 

Leans  to  the  field  and  scatters  on  the  clover 

Blossoms  and  dew-drops  —  at  the  bent  spray's  edge  — 

That's  the  wise  thrush;   he  sings  each  song  twice  over, 

Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  re- capture 

The  first  fine  careless  rapture ! 

And  though  the  fields  look  rough  with  hoary  dew, 

All  will  be  gay  when  noontide  wakes  anew 

The  buttercups,  the  little  children's  dower, 

—  Far  brighter  than  this  gaudy  melon-flower! 

Robert  Browning. 

108.  Did  you  ever  notice  that  where  you  are  or  where 
things  are  makes  a  difference  in  your  feelings?  It  makes 
a  difference  in  your  tone  also.  Where  does  a  red  rose 
look  most  lovely?  A  daisy?  Why?  Read  these  lines 
with  an  atmosphere  of  night  and  silence.  Can  you  ex- 
press the  effects  of  different  situations  with  your  voice? 

SILENCE 

So  silent  is  the  world  to-night 
The  lamp  gives  silence  out  like  light, 
The  latticed  windows  open  wide 
Show  silence,  like,  the  night,  outside; 
The  nightingale's  faint  song  draws  near 
Like  musical  silence  to  mine  ear. 

The  empty  house  calls  not  to  me, 
"  Here,  but  for  fate,  were  thou  and  she  —  " 
Its  gibe  for  once  is  checked.     To-night 
Silence  is  queen  in  grief's  despite, 
And  even  the  longing  of  my  soul 
Is  silent  'neath  this  hour's  control. 
From  "  The  Rainbow  and  the  Rose."  E.  Nesbit. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  95 

109.  Suppose  you  had  been  shut  up  in  a  room  in  the 
hospital  for  months!     How  would  the  world  look  to  you 
when  you  were  set  free?     How  would  such  words  as  the 
following  affect  your  voice? 

O,  the  wonder,  the  spell  of  the  streets! 
The  stature  and  strength  of  the  horses, 
The  rustle  and  echo  of  footfalls, 
The  flat  roar  and  rattle  of  wheels! 
.  .  .  O,  the  houses, 
The  long  lines  of  lofty,  grey  houses, 
Cross-hatched  with  shadow  and  light! 
These  are  the  streets.  .  .   . 
Each  is  an  avenue  leading 
Whither  I  will! 
Free.  .  .  .   ! 
Dizzy,  hysterical,  faint, 
I  sit,  and  the  carriage  rolls  on  with  me 
Into  the  wonderful  world. 
"  Discharged  "  from  the  Hospital.  William  Ernest  Henley. 

110.  Give  some  word  or  phrase  such  as  "  No,"  "  Go," 
"  He  fell,"  "  Come  here,"  in  many  ways,  that  is  with 
different  emotions.     What  modulation  chiefly  shows  dif- 
ference of  feeling? 

THE  VOICE 
It  is  not  so  much  what  you  say, 

As  the  manner  in  which  you  say  it; 
It  is  not  so  much  the  language  you  use, 

As  the  tone  in  which  you  convey  it. 
"  Come  here!  "  I  sharply  said, 

And  the  baby  cowered  and  wept; 
"  Come  here!  "  I  cooed,  and  he  looked  and  smiled, 

And  straight  to  my  lap  he  crept. 
The  words  may  be  mild  and  fair, 

And  the  tones  may  pierce  like  a  dart; 
The  words  may  be  soft  as  the  summer  air, 

And  the  tones  may  break  the  heart. 
For  words  but  come  from  the  mind, 

And  grow  by  study  and  art; 
But  the  tones  leap  from  the  inner  self, 

And  reveal  the  state  of  the  heart. 
Whether  you  know  it  or  not  — 

Whether  you  mean  or  care  — 
Gentleness,  kindness,  love,  and  hate, 

Envy  and  anger  are  there. 


96  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Then  would  you  quarrels  avoid, 

And  in  peace  and  love  rejoice? 
Keep  anger  not  only  out  of  your  words, 

But  keep  it  out  of  your  voice. 
Youth's  Companion. 

WAITING  FOR  THE  BUGLE 

We  wait  for  the  bugle;   the  night  dews  are  cold 

The  limbs  of  the  soldiers  feel  jaded  and  old, 

The  field  of  our  bivouac  is  windy  and  bare, 

There  is  lead  in  our  joints,  there  is  frost  in  our  hair; 

The  future  is  veiled  and  its  fortunes  unknown 

As  we  lie  with  hushed  breath  till  the  bugle  is  blown. 

At  the  sound  of  that  bugle  each  comrade  shall  spring 
Like  an  arrow  released  from  the  strain  of  the  string; 
The  courage,  the  impulse  of  youth  shall  come  back 
To  banish  the  chill  of  the  drear  bivouac, 
And  sorrows  and  losses  and  cares  fade  away 
When  that  life-giving  signal  proclaims  the  new  day. 

Though  the  bivouac  of  age  may  put  ice  in  our  veins, 
And  no  fibre  of  steel  in  our  sinews  remains, 
Though  the  comrades  of  yesterday's  march  are  not  here, 
And  the  sunlight  seems  pale  and  the  branches  are  sere, 
Though  the  sound  of  our  cheering  dies  down  to  a  moan, 
We  shall  find  our  lost  youth  when  the  bugle  is  blown. 

Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUR 

Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight,  when  the  night  is  beginning 
to  lower,  comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations,  that  is  known  as 
the  children's  hour. 

I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me  the  patter  of  little  feet,  the  sound 
of  a  door  that  is  opened,  and  voices  soft  and  sweet. 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight,  descending  the  broad  hall 
stair,  grave  Alice  and  laughing  Allegra,  and  Edith  with  golden  hair. 

A  whisper,  and  then  a  silence:  yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes 
they  are  plotting  and  planning  together  to  take  me  by  surprise. 

A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway,  a  sudden  raid  from  the  hall 
By  three  doors  left  unguarded  they  enter  my  castle  wall! 

They  climb  up  into  my  turret  o'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair; 
if  I  try  to  escape,  they  surround  me;  they  seem  to  be  everywhere. 

Colonel  Higginson  was  himself  a  soldier,  and  the  bugle  note  which  he  cele- 
brates in  his  poem  was  blown  at  his  own  funeral.  His  soldier  experience  would 
make  him  carry  in  mind  the  situation  and  impart  a  peculiar  color  to  the  tone 
through  the  whole  piece.  The  situation  of  the  camp,  night,  and  war  not  only 
gives  coloring  to  the  whole,  but  does  not  interfere  with  the  true  realization  of 
each  successive  idea.  The  whole  is  brought  by  imagination  and  feeling  into  an 
atmosphere  of  unity. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  97 

They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses,  their  arms  about  me  entwine, 
till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen  in  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhine ! 

Do  you  think,  O  blue-eyed  banditti,  because  you  have  scaled  the 
wall,  such  an  old  moustache  as  I  am  is  not  a  match  for  you  all! 

I  have  you  fast  in  my  fortress,  and  will  not  let  you  depart,  but  put 
you  down  into  the  dungeon  in  the  round- tower  of  my  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever,  yes,  forever  and  a  day,  till  the 
walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin,  and  moulder  in  dust  away! 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

XXIX.     IMAGINATION  AND  TONE  COLOR 

Summer's  in  the  sound  of  June, 
Summer  and  a  deepened  tune 
Of  the  bees  and  of  the  birds. 
From  "  To  June."  James  Henry  Leigh  Hunt,  1784-1859. 

111.  What  kinds  of  emotions  make  your  tones  pleas- 
ing, and  what  kinds  make  them  disagreeable?  Do  you 
change  tone-color  deliberately,  or  does  the  change  come 
of  itself  directly?  Is  it  heard  in  every-day  talking? 

"  Green  leaves,  what  are  you  doing 

Up  there  on  the  tree  so  high?" 
"  We  are  shaking  hands  with  the  breezes, 

As  they  go  singing  by.  " 

As  the  mind  has  spontaneous  activities,  so  delivery  has  elements  which  are 
not  directly  voluntary.  The  emotion  diffuses  itself  over  the  whole  body.  The 
muscles  may  be  hard  as  flint  or  soft  as  cotton  under  the  direct  domination  of 
emotion,  and  this  necessarily  changes  the  very  texture  or  quality  of  the  voice. 
Tone  color  is  the  emotional  modulation  of  resonance,  the  modulation  caused  by 
imagination  and  feeling  of  the  overtones  or  sympathetic  vibrations  of  the  voice. 

This  is  found  in  life.  The  cold,  hard,  negative  tones  so  often  heard  in  the 
school-room  arise  from  the  perfunctory  way  of  doing  work  and  from  the  fact 
that  the  pupils'  imagination  and  feeling  and  their  real  interest  and  attention  is 
not  awakened. 

The  observation  of  the  quality  of  tones  in  pupils  is  not  only  important  in 
itself,  but  it  serves  also  as  a  direct  sign  to  the  teacher  of  the  degree  of  genuine- 
ness and  earnestness  and  participation  in  the  work.  The  tones  reveal  what 
faculties  are  being  awakened,  whether  the  whole  nature  of  the  student  is  sym- 
pathetically responsive.  It  may  be  made  not  only  a  test  of  imagination  and  of 
feeling  but  even  of  the  spiritual  sense. 

The  time  for  the  harmonious  awakening  of  thinking,  imagination  and  feel- 
ing is  early.  The  fact  that  vocal  expression  cannot  be  taught  by  imitation  or 
mechanically;  that  the  mental,  imaginative,  and  emotional  causes  of  voice 
modulation  cannot  be  reduced  to  rule  does  not  prove  that  vocal  expression  may 
not  be  the  most  important  means  of  education.  Froebel's  principle  is  to 
bring  about  the  child  such  objects  as  will  stimulate  spontaneous  activity.  The 
improvement  of  the  sympathetic  vibrations  of  the  voice  and  tone-color  must 
be  secured  by  attention  to  lyrics,  the  recitation  of  a  great  variety  of  passages 
from  good  literature  and  to  the  practice  of  what  this  book  calls  Problems,  that 
is,  short  lines  with  great  difference  in  thought,  imagination  and  feeling. 


98  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  What,  green  leaves!  have  you  fingers?  " 
Then,  the  maple  laughed  with  glee  — 

"  Yes,  just  as  many  as  you  have; 
Count  them,  and  you  will  see!  " 

Kate  Louise  Brown. 

Yon  deep  bark  goes  where  traffic  blows 
From  lands  of  sun  to  lands  of  snows; 
This  happier  one,  its  course  is  run 
From  lands  of  snow  to  lands  of  sun. 

O  happy  ship,  to  rise  and  dip, 
With  the  blue  crystal  at  your  lip! 
O  happy  crew,  my  heart  with  you 
Sails,  and  sails,  and  sings  anew! 
From  "  Drifting."  Read. 

112.  In  the  following,  can  you  show  by  your  voice 
the  difference  between  day  and  night?     What  causes 
you  to  feel  this  difference? 

By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light; 
But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 
Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall, 
It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall, 
Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor, 
And  seems  to  say,  at  each  chamber-door: 
"  Forever  —  never! 
Never  —  forever !  " 

Henry  Wads  worth  Longfellow. 

113.  How  does  your  voice  differ  when  you  speak  to 
the  owls  in  the  first  lines  of  the  following  and  then  to  the 
birds  that  sing  freely  in  the  morning,  in  the  second  line? 
What  is  the  "  golden  bud  within  the  blue  ?  " 

Let  your  voice  suggest  such  changes  as  simply  and 
naturally  as  possible,  not  mechanically  or  by  will  or 
imitation  but  directly  through  your  imagination  and 
feeling. 

O  fly  away  on  silent  wing,  ye  boding  owls  of  night! 
O  welcome  little  birds  that  sing  the  coming-in  of  light! 

For  new,  and  new,  and  ever-new, 

The  golden  bud  within  the  blue; 

And  every  morning  seems  to  say: 

"  There's  something  happy  on  the  way, 

And  God  sends  love  to  you!  " 

Henry  Van  Dyke. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  99 

114.  Does  your  voice  naturally  change  as  you  go  to 
each  new  passage  in  this  group? 

How  many  emotions  can  you  yourself  distinguish  by 
changes  in  the  qualities  of  your  voice? 

When  all  thy  mercies,  O  my  God,  my  rising  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view,  I'm  lost  in  wonder,  love  and  praise. 

Fling  broad  the  sail,  dip  deep  the  oar; 
To  sea!  to  sea!  the  calm  is  o'er. 
From  "  The  Sailor's  Song."  Thomas  Beddoes. 

O  for  boyhood's  time  of  June, 
Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon. 
From  "  The  Barefoot  Boy."  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

With  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power  of  harmony  and  the  deep 
power  of  joy,  we  see  into  the  life  of  things. 
From  "  Tintern  Abbey."  William  Wordsworth. 

A  moment  in  the  British  camp  —  a  moment  —  and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest,  before  the  peep  of  day. 

What  ho,  my  jovial  mates!  come  on!  we'll  frolic  it 
Like  fairies  frisking  in  the  merry  moonshine. 

Walter  Scott. 

Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag,  set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  God  of  storms,  the  lightning,  and  the  gale. 
From  "  Old  Ironsides."  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossoms  that  hang  on  the  bough. 
From  "  The  Tempest."  William  Shakespeare. 

Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters!  leap  out  and  lay  on  load! 
Let's  forge  a  goodly  anchor,  a  bower,  thick  and  broad. 
From  "  Forging  of  the  Anchor."  Samuel  Ferguson. 

Not  wholly  lost,  O  Father!  is  this  evil  world  of  ours; 
Upward  through  its  blood  and  ashes,  spring  afresh  the  Eden  flowers; 
From  its  smoking  hill  of  battle,  Love  and  Pity  send  their  prayer, 
And  still  thy  white-winged  angels  hover  dimly  in  our  air. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

115.  Which  is  the  more  intellectual,  and  which  the 
more    imaginative    and    emotional,    inflexion    or    tone- 
color? 


100  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

If  it  is  not  right,  do  not  do  it;  if  it  is  not  true,  do  not  say  it. 

Marcus  Aurelius. 

And,  best  of  all,  through  twilight's  calm 
The  hermit-thrush  repeats  his  psalm. 
From  "  An  Angler's  Wish."  Henry  Van  Dyke. 

116.  Can  you  simultaneously   reveal   the   argument 
by  inflexions,  and  the  situation,  atmosphere,  and  feeling 
by  tone-color? 

TRUE  ROYALTY 

There  was  never  a  Queen  like  Balkis, 

From  here  to  the  wide  world's  end; 
But  Balkis  talked  to  a  butterfly 

As  you  would  talk  to  a  friend. 

There  was  never  a  King  like  Solomon, 

Not  since  the  world  began; 
But  Solomon  talked  to  a  butterfly 

As  a  man  would  talk  to  a  man. 

She  was  Queen  of  Sabaea  — 

And  he  was  Asia's  Lord  — 
But  they  both  of  'em  talked  to  butterflies 

When  they  took  their  walks  abroad. 
From  "  Just  So  Stories."  Rudyard  Kipling. 

XXX.   MELLOWNESS  OF  TONE 

Skies  may  be  dark  with  storm 
While  fierce  the  north  wind  blows, 
Yet  earth  at  heart  is  warm 
And  the  snowdrift  hides  the  rose. 

Mrs.  Celia  Thaxter,  1836-1894. 

117.  Render  passages  widely  contrasted  and  give  each 
as  genuinely  as  possible. 

To  improve  expression  it  is  necessary  to  work  always  upon  the  actions  of 
the  mind,  and  then  not  only  upon  the  modulations  which  respond  to  these,  but 
also  upon  the  conditions.  Accordingly,  after  the  study  of  the  cause  and  nature 
of  each  modulation  in  this  book,  there  will  be  found  a  lesson  on  the  correspond- 
ing voice  conditions  or  step  in  vocal  training. 

In  the  study  of  tone-color  conditions  need  special  attention  because  tone- 
color,  as  has  been  shown,  is  spontaneous.  It  comes  from  the  whole  mind,  from 
the  imagination  and  feeling,  and  from  the  whole  body. 

Mellowness  of  tone  simply  means  such  conditions  of  purity  and  resonance, 
or  richness  of  the  secondary  vibrations,  as  will  be  favorable  to  tone-color. 
Tone-color  is  the  imaginative  and  emotional  modulation  of  the  secondary 
vibrations  of  the  voice.  Sec  "  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp.  333-339. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  101 

We  should  always  think  the  truth,  speak  the  truth,  and  act  the 
truth. 

Come!  let  us  go  a-maying 
As  in  the  Long-Ago. 

William  Ernest  Henley. 

118.  While  increasing  the  retention  of  breath,   the 
relaxation  of  the  body  and  the  openness  of  the  throat, 
give  the  "  coo  "  of  the  doves  and  the  "  come  "  of  the 
swallows  with  as  much  feeling  and  tenderness,  but  also 
with  as  much  discrimination  of  their  difference  as  pos- 
sible. 

-  THE  GRAY  DOVE'S  ANSWER 

The  leaves  were  reddening  to  their  fall, 

"  Coo,"  said  the  gray  doves,  "  coo," 

As  they  sunned  themselves  on  the  garden  wall 

And  the  swallows  round  them  flew. 

"  Whither  away,  sweet  swallows? 

"Coo,"  said  the  gray  doves,  "  coo  "; 

"  Far  from  this  land  of  ice  and  snow 

To  a  sunny  southern  clime  we  go, 

Where  the  sky  is  warm  and  bright  and  gay; 

Come  with  us  away,  away. 

"  Come,"  they  said,  "  to  that  sunny  clime!  " 

"  Coo,"  said  the  gray  doves,  "  coo." 

"  You  will  die  in  this  land  of  mist  and  rime 

Where  'tis  bleak  the  winter  through. 

"  Come  away,"  said  the  swallows. 

"  Coo,"  said  the  gray  doves,  "  coo." 

"  Oh,  God  in  Heaven,"  they  said,  "  is  good; 

And  little  hands  will  give  us  food, 

And  guard  us  all  the  winter  through. 

"  Coo,"  said  the  gray  doves,  "  coo." 

Fred  E.  Weatherby. 

119.  Why  can  you  not  apply  rules  to  tone-color  or 
mechanically  soften  your  tone  or  enrich  its  resonance? 
How  does  your  voice  change  its  quality? 

"  O  Athenians,  I  honor  and  love  you,  but  I  shall  obey  God  rather 
than  you.  "  Socrates. 

It  must  be  observed  that  the  improvement  of  tone-color  and  mellowness  of 
tone  must  be  associated  with  right  action  of  the  body.  Hence,  the  dramatic 
instinct  must  be  awakened  and  ideas  so  realized  as  to  affect  the  whole  body. 
Constrictions  in  the  face,  throat  or  any  part  of  the  body  will  at  once  make  the 
tone  hard,  while  imagination  and  feeling  will  cause  corresponding  or  secondary 
vibrations  through  the  whole  body  and  sympathetic  ami  harmonious  vibrations 
in  the  tone. 


LITTLE     CLASSICS 

120.  Render    some    passage    with   deep    feeling    and 
allow  it   to   soften  and  enrich  your  tone.     What  are 
some  of  the  things  necessary  before  you  can  do  this? 

Good  night!     Good  night! 
Far  flies  the  light; 
But  still  God's  love 
Shall  flame  above, 
Making  all  bright. 
Good  night!     Good  night! 

Victor  Hugo. 

121.  What  effect  upon  the  voice  has  the  thoughts  of 
"  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  air"  and  flags  "  through 
the  thunderstorm?" 

For  I  dipt  into  the  future,  far  as  human  eye  could  see, 

Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would  be; 

Saw  the  heavens  fill  with  commerce,  argosies  of  magic  sails, 
Pilots  of  the  purple  twilight,  dropping  down  with  costly  bales; 

Heard  the  heavens  fill  with  shouting,  and  there  rained  a  ghastly  dew 
From  the  nations'  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  central  blue; 

Far  along  the  world-wide  whisper  of  the  south-wind  rushing  warm, 
With  the  standards  of  the  peoples  plunging  through  the  thunder- 
storm; 

Till  the  war  drum  throbbed  no  longer,  and  the  battle-flags  were 

furled 
In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  Federation  of  the  world; 

There  the  common  sense  of  most  shall  hold  a  fretful  realm  in  awe, 

And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapt  in  universal  law. 

From  "  Locksley  Hall."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

122.  As  you  imagine  the  echo  of  the  bugle  coming 
from  far  away,  how  does  your  voice  express  the  impres- 
sion it  produces  upon  you? 

O  hark!  O  hear!  how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going! 
O  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar, 

The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing ! 
From  "  The  Princess."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

One  important  technical  means  of  improving  the  resonance  of  the  voice  is  to 
practise  as  an  exercise  the  smallest  possible  tone  with  the  greatest  possible 
emphasis  of  conditions.  See  "  Mind  and  Voice,"  pp.  333-398. 

One  of  the  simplest  and  best  methods  of  awakening  the  sense  of  tone-color 
and  developing  mellowness  of  voice  is  the  use  of  short  contrasted  selections. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  103 

123.  Render   the   call   of  the    "  Charcoal   Man"    as 
openly  and  as  heartily  as  possible,  and  then  contrast  it 
with  the  great  delicacy  of  the  echo,  without  changing 
the  amount  of  reserve  breath  or  the  openness  of  the  tone 
passage. 

Though  rudely  blows  the  wintry  blast, 
And  sifting  snows  fall  white  and  fast, 
Mark  Haley  drives  along  the  street, 
Perch'd  high  upon  his  wagon  seat: 
His  sombre  face  the  storm  defies, 
And  thus  from  morn  till  eve  he  cries,  — 

"  Charco  '!  charco  '!  " 
While  echo  faint  and  far  replies,  — 

"Hark,  O!  hark,  O!  " 

"  Charco  '!  "  —  "  Hark,  O!  "  —  Such  cheery  sounds 
Attend  him  on  his  daily  rounds. 
From  "  The  Charcoal  Man."  John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 

124.  Repeat  many  times  "  ah  "  from  the  following 
with  love  for  the  race  and  a  sense  of  the  beauty  and  joy 
for  the  coming  time.     Be  sure  that  the  feeling  establishes 
conditions  of  tone,  deepens  breathing  and  relaxes  not 
only  the  throat  but  the  whole  body,  and  thus  softens 
the  tone. 

Ah,  when  shall  all  men's  good 
Be  each  man's  rule?  and  universal  peace 
Lie  like  a  shaft  of  light  across  the  land, 
And  like  a  lane  of  beams  across  the  sea, 
Through  all  circle  of  the  golden  year? 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

A  LEAP  FOR  LIFE 

Old  Ironsides  at  anchor  lay,  in  the  harbor  of  Mahon;  a  dead  calm 
rested  on  the  bay,  —  the  waves  to  sleep  had  gone:  when  little  Jack, 
the  captain's  son,  with  gallant  hardihood,  climbed  shroud  and  spar  — 
and  then  upon  the  main-truck  rose  and  stood! 

A  shudder  shot  through  every  vein,  all  eyes  were  turned  on  high! 
There  stood  the  boy,  with  dizzy  brain,  between  the  sea  and  sky;  no 
hold  had  he  above,  below,  alone  he  stood  in  air:  to  that  far  height 
none  dared  to  go;  no  aid  could  reach  him  there. 

We  gazed,  —  but  not  a  man  could  speak!  with  horror  all  aghast, 

Very  gentle,  even  fairy  laughter,  retaining  all  the  breath  possible,  securing 
a  wide  tone  passage  and  large  vowels,  is  a  good  exercise  for  mellowness.  Re- 
view problems  Nos.  30-32  at  this  point  with  more  imaginative  exercises. 


104  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

in  groups,  with  pallid  brow  and  cheek,  we  watched  the  quivering 
mast.  The  atmosphere  grew  thick  and  hot,  and  of  a  lurid  hue,  as 
riveted  unto  the  spot  stood  officers  and  crew. 

The  father  came  on  deck!  he  gasped,  "  O  God  !  thy  will  be  done!  " 
Then  suddenly  a  rifle  grasped,  and  aimed  it  at  his  son:  "  Jump  far 
out,  boy,  into  the  wave!  Jump,  or  I  fire!  "  he  said;  "  That  only 
chance  thy  life  can  save!  Jump!  jump,  boy!  "  He  obeyed. 

He  sunk,  —  he  rose,  —  he  lived,  —  he  moved,  —  and  for  the  ship 
struck  out;  on  board,  we  hailed  the  lad  beloved,  with  many  a  manly 
shout.  His  father  drew,  in  silent  joy,  those  wet  arms  round  his 
neck,  —  and  folded  to  his  heart  his  boy,  then  fainted  on  the  deck. 

George  P.  Morris,  1802-1864. 

125.  Paint  in  the  accompanying  poem  the  pomp, 
excitement,  and  fierceness  of  war.  Then  observe  the 
decided  transition  in  sympathy  and  feeling  at  "in  vain 
your  pomp.  "  Realize  the  contrast  so  fully  as  to  cause 
a  decided  change  in  your  voice.  Note  also  the  many 
decided  contrasts  all  through  the  poem. 

Rise  if  the  past  detain  you! 

Her  sunshine  and  storms  forget: 
No  chains  so  unworthy  to  hold  you 

As  those  of  a  vain  regret. 
Sad  or  bright,  she  is  lifeless  ever: 
Cast  her  phantom  arms  away! 
Nor  look  save  to  learn  the  lesson 
Of  a  nobler  strife  today. 

Adelaide  Proctor. 

BATTLE   SONG 

Day,  like  our  souls,  is  fiercely  dark; 

What  then?     'Tis  day! 
We  sleep  no  more;  the  cock  crows  —  hark! 

To  arms!  away! 
They  come!  they  come!  the  knell  is  rung 

Of  us  or  them ; 
Wide  o'er  their  march  the  pomp  is  flung 

Of  gold  and  gem. 
What  collared  hound  of  lawless  sway, 

To  famine  dear, 
What  pensioned  slave  of  Attila, 

Leads  in  the  rear? 
Come  they  from  Scythian  wilds  afar 

Our  blood  to  spill? 
Wear  they  livery  of  the  Czar? 

They  do  his  will.  .  .  . 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  105 

In  vain  your  pomp,  ye  evil  powers, 

Insults  the  land; 
Wrongs,  vengeance,  and  the  cause  are  ours, 

And  God's  right  hand! 
Madmen!  they  trample  into  snakes 

The  wormy  clod! 
Like  fire,  beneath  their  feet  awakes 

The  sword  of  God! 
Behind,  before,  above,  below, 

They  rouse  the  brave; 
Where'er  they  go,  they  make  a  foe, 

Or  find  a  grave. 

Ebenezer  Elliott. 

XXXI.   LANGUAGE  OF  THINKING  AND  FEELING 

Good-by,  little  birdie!  fly  to  the  sky, 
Singing  and  singing  a  merry  good-by. 
Tell  all  the  birds  flying  above, 
Nell,  in  the  garden,  sends  them  her  love 
I'd  like  to  go  with  you  if  I  could  fly; 
It  must  be  so  beautiful  up  in  the  sky. 

126.  Emphasize  the  thought  in  one  passage,  and  the 
feeling  and  thought  in  another.  Does  true  feeling  ever 
interfere  with  inflexion?  What  is  the  difference  between 
the  language  of  thinking  and  that  of  feeling?  What  is 
the  cause  of  so-called  "  tunes,"  and  how  can  they  be 
corrected? 

It  is  never  too  late  to  speak  or  to  write  gentle  words. 

It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  be  anything  else  but  kind. 

Dennis  A.  McCarthy. 

Follow  Light,  and  do  the  Right  —  for  man  can  half-control  his 

doom  — 

Till  you  find  the  deathless  Angel  seated  in  the  vacant  tomb. 
"  Locksley  Hall,  Sixty  Years  After."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

Pause,  touch,  change  of  pitch  and  inflexion  express  thinking,  as  has  been 
shown.  Tone-color  or  the  emotional  modulation  of  the  sympathetic  vibrations 
of  the  voice  expresses  imagination  and  feeling.  As  thinking  is  more  deliberative 
than  imagination  and  feeling,  inflexions  are  more  deliberative  than  tone-color. 

Tone-color  is  involuntary;  we  control  only  its  conditions.  Feeling  changes 
the  whole  texture  of  the  body  and  the  qualities  of  the  voice.  When  use  of  the 
pause  and  other  modulations  has  been  secured  and  brought  into  sympathetic 
union  by  imagination  and  feeling,  changes  of  many  kinds  occur  with  every 
idea. 


106  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

127.  Does   thinking   ever   interfere   with   feeling,   or 
feeling  with  thinking?     Try  to  separate  them,   giving 
first  a  passage  with  great  thought,  then  with  deep  feel- 
ing, and  then  render  with  both  together,  observing  how 
they  help  each  other.     Observe  also  that  in  the  same 
way  the  language  of  tone-color  and  inflexion  naturally 
go  together. 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 

John  Milton. 

Too  low  they  build,  who  build  beneath  the  stars. 

Edward  Young. 

To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms  she  speaks 
A  various  language;   for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty,  and  she  glides, 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  healing  sympathy  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware. 
From  "  Thanatopsis."  William  Cullen  Bryant. 

128.  While   uniting   both   thinking   and   feeling,   in- 
flexion and  tone-color,  render  passages  where  sometimes 
one,  and  sometimes  the  other,  is  more  pronounced. 

"  Walk  up!  walk  up,  gentlemen!  walk  up!  walk  up!  Here  is 
the  superior  stuff!  Here  is  the  unadulterated  ale  of  Father  Adam! 
better  than  Jamaica,  strong  beer,  or  wine  at  any  price:  here  it  is  by 
the  hogshead  or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a  cent  to  pay.  Walk  up, 
gentlemen,  walk  up  and  help  yourselves!  " 
"  Town  Pump."  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Think  truly,  and  thy  thoughts 

Shall  the  world's  famine  feed; 
Speak  truly,  and  each  word  of  thine 

Shall  be  a  fruitful  seed; 
Live  truly,  and  thy  life  shall  be 

A  great  and  noble  creed. 

Horatio  Bonar. 

Genuine  thinking  and  genuine  feeling  equally  help  each  other.  Feeling 
does  not  weaken  thinking,  but  intensifies  it.  Poetry  is  the  intense  realization 
of  truth.  Imagination  is  simply  a  higher  and  more  intense  mode  of  thinking. 
This  is  not  true  of  fancy,  which  is  more  playful.  Unfortunately,  many  people 
regard  fancy  as  imagination. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  107 

There  is  no  far  nor  near, 
There  is  neither  there  nor  here, 
There  is  neither  soon  nor  late, 
In  that  Chamber  over  the  Gate, 
Nor  any  long  ago 
To  that  cry  of  human  woe, 
O  Absalom,  my  son! 
From  "  The  Chamber  over  the  Gate."  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

THE   WORLD'S  MUSIC 
The  world's  a  very  happy  place, 

Where  every  child  should  dance  and  sing, 
And  always  have  a  smiling  face, 

And  never  sulk  for  anything. 

I  waken  when  the  morning's  come, 

And  feel  the  air  and  light  alive 
With  strange  sweet  music  like  the  hum 

Of  bees  about  their  busy  hive. 

The  linnets  play  among  the  leaves 

At  hide-and-seek,  and  chirp  and  sing; 
While,  flashing  to  and  from  the  eaves, 

The  swallows  twitter  on  the  wing. 

And  twigs  that  shake,  and  boughs  that  sway; 

And  tall  old  trees  you  could  not  climb; 
And  winds  that  come,  but  cannot  stay, 

Are  singing  gayly  all  the  time. 

From  dawn  to  dark  the  old  mill-wheel 

Makes  music,  going  round  and  round; 
And  dusty-white  with  flour  and  meal, 

The  miller  whistles  to  its  sound. 

The  brook  that  flows  beside  the  mill, 

As  happy  as  a  brook  can  be, 
Goes  singing  its  old  song  until 

It  learns  the  singing  of  the  sea. 

For  every  wave  upon  the  sands 

Sings  songs  you  never  tire  to  hear, 
Of  laden  ships  from  sunny  lands 

Where  it  is  summer  all  the  year. 

And  if  you  listen  to  the  rain 

Where  leaves  and  birds  and  bees  are  dumb, 
You  hear  it  pattering  on  the  pane 

Like  Andrew  beating  on  his  drum. 

The  coals  beneath  the  kettle  croon, 

And  clap  their  hands  and  dance  in  glee; 
And  even  the  kettle  hums  a  tune 

To  tell  you  when  it's  time  for  tea. 


108  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

The  world  is  such  a  happy  place 

That  children,  whether  big  or  small, 
Should  always  have  a  smiling  face 

And  never,  never  sulk  at  all. 

Gabriel  Setoun. 

SNOWDROP 

Many,  many  welcomes 
February  fair-maid, 
Ever  as  of  old  time, 
Solitary  firstling, 
Coming  in  the  cold  time, 
Prophet  of  the  gay  time, 
Prophet  of  the  May  time, 
Prophet  of  the  roses, 
Many,  many  welcomes 
February  fair-maid! 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

OWN  SHALL  COME  TO  ME 

Serene  I  fold  my  hands  and  wait, 

Nor  care  for  wind,  nor  tide,  nor  sea. 
I  rave  no  more  'gainst  time  or  fate, 

For  lo!  my  own  shall  come  to  me. 

I  stay  my  haste,  I  make  delays, 

For  what  avails  this  eager  pace? 
I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 

And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

Asleep,  awake,  by  night  or  day 

The  friends  I  seek  are  seeking  me; 
No  wind  can  drive  my  bark  astray, 
I     Nor  change  the  tide  of  destiny. 

What  matter  if  I  stand  alone? 

I  wait  with  joy  the  coming  years; 
My  heart  shall  reap  when  it  has  sown, 

And  gather  up  its  fruit  of  tears. 

The  stars  come  nightly  to  the  sky; 

The  tidal  wave  comes  to  the  sea; 
Nor  time,  nor  space,  nor  deep,  nor  high, 

Can  keep  my  own  away  from  me. 

The  waters  know  their  own  and  draw 

The  brook  that  springs  in  yonder  heights; 

So  flows  the  good  with  equal  law 
Unto  the  soul  of  pure  delights. 

John  Burroughs. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  -  109 

VI 

EXPERIENCE  AND  EXPRESSION 
XXXII.    SYMPATHETIC  OBSERVATION 

"  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew; 

And,  gentle  lady,  deign  to  stay: 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheuch, 

Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 
From  "  Rosabelle."  Walter  Scott. 

129.  Do  you  observe  and  realize  the  next  so  deeply 
that  each  successive  picture  brings  a  new  experience  and 
a  change  in  expression? 

In  reading  the  second  passage  following  what  changes 
do  you  make  in  the  last  line,  and  why? 

They  are  here!     They  rush  on!     We  are  broken!     We  are  gone! 

Our  left  is  borne  before  them  like  stubble  on  the  blast. 
O  Lord,  put  forth  thy  might!     O  Lord,  defend  the  right! 

Stand  back  to  back,  in  God's  name,  and  fight  it  to  the  last! 
From  "  The  Battle  of  Naseby."  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay. 

Lord  of  all  being!  throned  afar, 
Thy  glory  flames  from  sun  and  star; 
Center  and  soul  of  every  sphere, 
Yet  to  each  loving  heart  how  near! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

130.  Realize  the  point  of  view  of  the  young  soldiers 
and  their  attitude  to  the  old  man.     Give  their  various 
epithets  with  their  feeling;    then  observe  the  extreme 
changes  when  you  pass  to  your  own  point  of  view. 
Observe  how  naturally  sympathy  causes  changes  in  ex- 
perience and  expression. 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula  charged  away; 

And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin,  — 

Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in, — 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore, 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore; 

And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 

Observe  that  feeling  acts  in  union  with  thinking.  Some  of  the  greatest 
faults  in  reading  and  speaking  are  due  to  the  fact  that  each  idea  or  event  is 
not  realized  and  has  no  effect  upon  the  emotion.  Feeling  that  does  not  change 
with  every  idea  is  a  mere  mood.  To  control  feeling  bring  it  into  direct  re- 
sponse to  thinking.  Feel  what  you  think,  think  what  you  feel,  and  express  both. 


110  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  How  are  you,  White  Hat?  "     "  Put  her  through!  " 
"  Your  head's  level!  "  and  "  Bully  for  you!  " 
Called  him  "  Daddy,"  —  and  begged  he'd  disclose 
The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 
Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked; 
And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 
Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand, 
Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 
Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 
In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 
The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there; 
And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 
That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 
Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 
That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 
From  "  John  Burns  of  Gettysburg."  Francis  Bret  Harte. 

131.   What  mental  action  would  cause  no  change,  and 
what  would  cause  extreme  changes  in  the  following? 

PLAYING  ROBINSON   CRUSOE 
Pussy  can  sit  by  the  fire  and  sing, 

Pussy  can  climb  a  tree, 
Or  play  with  a  silly  old  cork  and  string 

To  'muse  herself,  not  me. 
But  I  like  Binkie,  my  dog,  because 

He  knows  how  to  behave; 
So,  Binkie's  the  same  as  the  First  Friend  was 

And  I  am  the  Man  in  the  Cave. 

Pussy  will  play  Man-Friday  till 

It's  time  to  wet  her  paw 
And  make  her  walk  on  the  window-sill 

(For  the  footprint  Crusoe  saw); 
Then  she  fuffles  her  tail  and  mews, 

And  scratches  and  won't  attend. 
But  Binkie  will  play  whatever  I  choose, 

And  he  is  my  true  First  Friend. 

Pussy  will  rub  my  knees  with  her  head, 

Pretending  she  loves  me  hard; 
But  the  very  minute  I  go  to  my  bed 

Pussy  runs  out  in  the  yard. 
And  there  she  stays  till  the  morning-light; 

So  I  know  it  is  only  pretend; 
But  Binkie,  he  snores  at  my  feet  all  night, 

And  he  is  my  own  First  Friend! 

Rudyard  Kipling. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  111 

ORPHEUS 

Orpheus  with  his  lute  made  trees, 
And  the  mountain-tops  that  freeze, 
Bow  themselves,  when  he  did  sing: 
To  his  music,  plants  and  flowers 
Ever  sprung;   as  Sun  and  showers 

There  had  made  a  lasting  Spring. 

Everything  that  heard  him  play, 
Even  the  billows  of  the  sea, 
Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  music  is  such  art, 
Killing  care  and  grief  of  heart 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die. 
From  "King  Henry  VIII,"  Act  III,  Scene  I.  William  Shakespeare. 

XXXIII.     SYMPATHETIC     IDENTIFICATION 

Who  says,  "  I  will  "  to  what  is  right, 

"  I  won't  "  to  what  is  wrong, 
Although  a  tender  little  child, 

Is  truly  great  and  strong. 

132.  Read  something  as  if  it  were  remote  and  ab- 
stract; then  see  everything  and  identify  yourself  with 
it,  and  observe  the  differences. 

I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 

And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

John  Burroughs. 

A  little  child,  beneath  a  tree, 

Sat  and  chanted  cheerily, 

"  When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall, 

But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all." 

The  widow's  lips  impulsive  moved; 
The  mother's  grief,  though  unreproved, 
Softened,  as  her  trembling  tongue 
Repeated  what  the  infant  sung. 
From  "  The  Child  and  the  Mourners."  Charles  Mackay. 

The  celebrated  soprano  was  in  the  middle  of  her  solo.  The 
conductor  of  the  orchestra  was  vigorously  waving  his  baton.  Little 
Johnny  watched  him  breathlessly  for  a  moment  then  turned  ex- 
citedly to  his  mother  and  asked:  "  Why  does  that  man  hit  at  the 
woman  with  his  stick?  " 

"  He  is  not  hitting  at  her,"  replied  his  mother.     "  Keep  quiet.  " 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  she  hollerin'  so  for?  " 


112  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

133.  Read  the  words  of  two  different  persons  and  give 
them  alike;  then  read  them  and  so  realize  each  one's 
point  of  view  and  character  that  you  identify  yourself 
with  each. 

CHILD   AND   BOATMAN 

Child.     Martin,  I  wonder  who  makes  all  the  songs. 
Martin.     You  do,  sir? 

Child.  Yes,  I  wonder  how  they  come. 

Martin.     Well,  boy,  I  wonder  what  you'll  wonder  next! 
Child.     But  somebody  must  make  them? 
Martin.  Sure  enough. 

Child.     Does  your  wife  know? 

Martin.  She  never  said  she  did. 

Child.     You  told  me  that  she  knew  so  many  things. 
Martin.     I  said  she  was  a  London  woman,  sir, 

And  a  fine  scholar,  but  I  never  said 

She  knew  about  the  songs. 
Child.  I  wish  she  did. 

Martin.     And  I  wish  no  such  thing;   she  knows  enough, 

She  knows  too  much  already.     Look  you  now, 

This  vessel's  off  the  stocks,  a  tidy  craft. 
Child.     A  schooner,  Martin? 
Martin.       '  No,  boy;   no;   a  brig, 

Only  she's  schooner-rigged  —  a  lovely  craft. 
Child.     Is  she  for  me?     O  thank  you,  Martin,  dear. 

What  shall  I  call  her? 

Martin.  Well,  sir,  what  you  please. 

Child.     Then  write  on  her  "  The  Eagle." 
Martin.  Bless  the  child! 

Eagle !  why,  you  know  naught  of  eagles,  you. 

When  we  lay  off  the  coast,  up  Canada  way, 

And  chanced  to  be  ashore  when  twilight  fell, 

That  was  the  place  for  eagles;   bald  they  were, 

With  eyes  as  yellow  as  gold. 
Child.  O  Martin,  dear, 

Tell  me  about  them. 
Martin.  Tell !  there's  naught  to  tell, 

Only  they  snored  o'  nights  and  frighted  us. 
Child.     Snored? 
Martin.  Ay,  I  tell  you,  snored;   they  slept  upright 

In  the  great  oaks  by  scores;   as  true  as  time, 

If  I'd  had  aught  upon  my  mind  just  then, 

I  wouldn't  have  walked  that  wood  for  unknown  gold; 

It  was  most  awful.     When  the  moon  was  full, 

I've  seen  them  fish  at  night,  in  the  middle  watch, 

When  she  got  low.     I've  seen  them  plunge  like  stones 

And  <  ome  up  fighting  with  a  fish  as  long, 

Aye,  longer  than  my  arm;  and  they  would  sail — 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  113 

When  they  had  struck  its  life  out  —  they  would  sail 

Over  the  deck,  and  show  their  fell,  fierce  eyes, 

And  croon  for  pleasure,  hug  the  prey,  and  speed 

Grand  as  a  frigate  on  the  wind. 
Child.  My  ship, 

She  must  be  called  "  The  Eagle  "  after  these. 

And,  Martin,  ask  your  wife  about  the  songs 

When  you  go  in  at  dinner-time. 
Martin.  Not  I. 

"  Songs  of  the  Voices  of  Birds."  Jean  Ingelow. 

OBERON  AND  TITANIA 
Oberon. 

Through  the  house  give  glimmering  light, 
By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire; 

Every  elf  and  fairy  sprite, 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier; 

And  this  ditty  after  me 

Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
Titania. 

First,  rehearse  your  song  by  rote, 

To  each  word  a  warbling  note: 

Hand  in  hand  with  fairy  grace 

Will  we  sing  and  bless  this  place. 
Oberon. 

With  this  field-dew  consecrate, 

Every  fairy  take  his  gait; 

And  each  several  chamber  bless, 

Through  this  palace,  with  sweet  peace, 

Ever  shall  in  safety  rest, 

And  the  owner  of  it  blest. 

Trip  away;   make  no  stay; 

Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 
From  "  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream."        William  Shakespeare,  1564-1616. 

134.  In  reciting  a  fable,  giving  it  or  a  story  in  your 
own  words,  what  are  some  of  the  mental  actions  or  ex- 
pressive conditions  that  enable  you  to  speak  the  words 
naturally  and  yet  keep  the  character  of  each  animal? 

THE  MICE,  THE  CAT,  AND   THE  BELL 

There  was  a  sly  Cat  in  the  house,  and  the  Mice  were  in  such  fear 
of  her,  that  they  had  a  meeting  to  find  out  some  way  to  prevent  her 
from  catching  them.  "  Do  as  I  say,"  cried  one  of  the  Mice;  "  hang 
a  bell  on  the  Cat's  neck,  to  tell  us  when  she  is  near."  This  bright 
plan  made  the  Mice  jump  for  joy.  "  Well,"  said  an  old  Mouse, 
"  we  have  a  pretty  plan.  Now,  who  shall  hang  the  bell  on  the 
Cat's  neck?  "  Not  a  Mouse  would  undertake  it. 


114  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

A  LESSON 

Tell  me  little  spider, 

Who  taught  you  how  to  spin? 
Tell  me  little  minnow, 

How  you  learned  to  use  your  fin. 

Tell  me  little  swallow, 

Who  taught  you  how  to  fly? 
And  they  each  said,  "  It  is  easy 

If  you  only  try  and  try." 
From  "  Elfin  Songs  of  Sunland."  Charles  Augustus  Keeler. 

135.  Can  you  read  this  poem  giving  everything  as 
seen  and  felt  by  the  little  boy  who  is  talking? 

FRAIDIE-CAT 

I  sha'n't  tell  you  what's  his  name: 
When  we  want  to  play  a  game, 
Always  thinks  that  he'll  be  hurt, 
Soil  his  jacket  in  the  dirt, 
Tear  his  trousers,  spoil  his  hat,  — 
Fraidie-Cat!     Fraidie-Cat! 

Nothing  of  the  boy  in  him! 
"  Dasn't "  try  to  learn  to  swim; 
Says  a  cow'll  hook;  if  she 
Looks  at  him  he'll  climb  a  tree. 
"  Scart  "  to  death  at  bee  or  bat, —  ^ 
Fraidie-Cat!     Fraidie-Cat! 

Claims  the're  ghosts  all  snowy  white 

Wandering  around  at  night 

In  the  attic:   wouldn't  go 

There  for  anything,  I  know. 

B'lieve  he'd  run  if  you  said  "  scat!  " 
Fraidie-Cat!     Fraidie-Cat! 

Clinton  Scollard. 

From  "  A  Boy's  Book  of  Rhyme." 
Copyright,  Geo.  Wm.  Browning,  Clinton,  N.  Y. 
By  permission  of  the  author. 

136.  As  you  read  this  story,  entering  into  the  feeling 
of  the  little  community  and  sympathetically  identify- 
ing yourself  with  the  ant  who  tells  of  the  trouble,  which 
of  the  words  in  the  story  give  the  feeling  of  the  little 
ant  and  which  express  your  own  emotion? 

What  would  be  the  effect  if  you  read  the  whole  with- 
out any  imagination  or  dramatic  insight?     How  would 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  115 

you  speak  the  last  three  words,  —  as  the  boy  said  it 
or  with  your  own  feeling  of  regret?  Neither  would  be 
wrong,  but  what  would  be  the  difference? 


A  TRAGEDY 

All  was  commotion  in  Hillock  Town, 
The  people  were  hurrying  up  and  down, 
Each  with  as  much  as  his  arms  could  hold; 
And  all  were  terrified,  young  and  old. 

Empty-handed  of  all  that  crowd, 

One  little  creature  wailed  aloud: 

"  My  father  and  mother  are  buried,"  cried  she, 

"  Beneath  the  leaves  of  the  plantain  tree. 

"  My  brothers  and  sisters  are  dying  or  dead, 
And  no  one  is  left  but  me,"  she  said. 
"  Those  giants  are  all  such  horrid  folk! 
They  ruin  our  homes  and  think  it  a  joke." 

And  the  poor  little  thing  ran  up  and  down 
With  the  hurrying  throngs  in  Hillock  Town. 
This  is  what  happened  when  Reginald  Gunn 
Stamped  on  some  ant  hills,  "  just  for  fun." 

Not  known. 

THE  TABLE  AND  THE   CHAIR 

Said  the  Table  to  the  Chair, 
"  You  can  hardly  be  aware 
How  I  suffer  from  the  heat 
And  from  chilblains  on  my  feet. 
If  we  took  a  little  walk, 
We  might  have  a  little  talk; 
Pray  let  us  take  the  air," 
Said  the  Table  to  the  Chair. 

Said  the  Chair  unto  the  Table, 

"  Now,  you  know  we  are  not  able; 

How  foolishly  you  talk, 

When  you  know  we  cannot  walk!  " 

Said  the  Table  with  a  sigh, 

"  It  can  do  no  harm  to  try, 

I've  as  many  legs  as  you: 

Why  can't  we  walk  on  two?  " 

So  they  both  went  slowly  down, 
And  walked  about  the  town 
With  a  cheerful  bumpy  sound 
As  they  toddled  round  and  round; 


116  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

And  everybody  cried, 
As  they  hastened  to  their  side, 
"  See!  the  Table  and  the  Chair 
Have  come  out  to  take  the  air!  " 
But  in  going  down  an  alley, 
To  a  castle  in  a  valley, 
They  completely  lost  their  way, 
And  wandered  all  the  day; 
Till,  to  see  them  safely  back, 
They  paid  a  Ducky-quack, 
And  a  Beetle,  and  a  Mouse, 
Who  took  them  to  their  house. 
Then  they  whispered  to  each  other, 
"  O  delightful  little  brother, 
What  a  lovely  walk  we've  taken! 
Let  us  dine  on  beans  and  bacon." 
So  the  Ducky,  and  the  leetle 
Browny-Mousy,  and  the  Beetle, 
Dined,  and  danced  upon  their  heads 
Till  they  toddled  to  their  beds. 
Prom  "  A  Book  of  Limerick*."  Edward  Lear. 

137.  Render  this  dialogue,  feeling  the  genuine  grief 
of  Frank  and  the  egotistic  bearing  of  the  two  men, 
Currie  and  Swipes;  then  the  dignity  and  great  slowness 
of  the  squire  who  reads  the  will.  Show  the  marked 
change  in  the  attitude  of  the  two  men  when  they  find 
they  are  not  recognized  in  the.  will. 

THE   WILL 
Characters.  —  Swipes,  Currie,  Frank  Millington,  and  Squire  Drawl. 

Swipes.  A  sober  occasion,  this,  brother  Currie.  Who  would 
have  thought  the  old  lady  was  so  near  her  end? 

Currie.  Ah!  we  must  all  die,  brother  Swipes;  and  those  who 
live  the  longest  outlive  the  most. 

Sw.  True,  true;  but  since  we  must  die  and  leave  our  earthly 
possessions,  it  is  well  that  the  law  takes  such  good  care  of  us.  Had 
the  old  lady  her  senses  when  she  departed? 

C.  Perfectly,  perfectly.  Squire  Drawl  told  me  she  read  every 
word  of  the  will  aloud,  and  never  signed  her  name  better. 

Sw.  Had  you  any  hint  from  the  Squire  what  disposition  she  made 
of  her  property? 

C.  Not  a  whisper;  the  Squire  is  as  close  as  an  underground 
tomb:  but  one  of  the  witnesses  hinted  to  me  that  she  had  cut  off 
her  graceless  nephew,  Frank,  without  a  shilling. 

Sw.  Has  she,  good  soul,  has  she?  You  know  I  come  in,  then,  in 
right  of  my  wife. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  117 

C.  And  I  in  my  own  right;  and  this  is  no  doubt  the  reason  why 
we  have  been  called  to  hear  the  reading  of  the  will.  Squire  Drawl 
knows  how  things  should  be  done,  though  he  is  as  air-tight  as  one 
of  your  beer-barrels.  But  here  comes  the  young  reprobate.  He 
must  be  present,  as  a  matter  of  course,  you  know.  [Enter  Frank 
Millington.]  Your  servant,  young  gentleman.  So  your  benefac- 
tress left  you  at  last. 

Sw.  It  is  a  painful  thing  to  part  with  old  and  good  friends,  Mr. 
Millington. 

Frank.  It  is  so,  sir;  but  I  could  bear  her  loss  better  had  I 
not  so  often  been  ungrateful  for  her  kindness.  She  was  my  only 
friend,  and  I  knew  not  her  value. 

C.  It  is  too  late  to  repent,  Master  Millington.  You  will  now 
have  a  chance  to  earn  your  own  bread. 

Sw.  Ay,  ay,  by  the  sweat  of  your  brow,  as  better  people  are 
obliged  to.  You  would  make  a  fine  brewer's  boy,  if  you  were  not 
too  old. 

C.     Ay,  or  a  saddler's  lackey,  if  held  with  a  tight  rein. 

F.  Gentlemen,  your  remarks  imply  that  my  aunt  has  treated 
me  as  I  deserved.  I  am  above  your  insults,  and  only  hope  you 
will  bear  your  fortune  as  modestly,  as  I  shall  mine  submissively. 
I  shall  retire.  [Going:  he  meets  Squire  Drawl.] 

Sq.  Stop,  stop,  young  man.  We  must  have  your  presence. 
Good  morning,  gentlemen;  you  are  early  on  the  ground. 

C.     I  hope  the  Squire  is  well  to-day. 

Sq.     Pretty  comfortable,  for  an  invalid. 

Sw.     I  trust  the  damp  air  has  not  affected  your  lungs  again. 

Sq.  No,  I  believe  not.  But  since  the  heirs  at  law  are  all  con- 
vened, I  shall  now  proceed  to  open  the  last  will  and  testament  of 
your  deceased  relative,  according  to  law. 

Sw.  [While  the  Squire  is  breaking  the  seal.]  It  is  a  trying  thing 
to  leave  all  one's  possessions,  Squire,  in  this  manner. 

C.  It  really  makes  me  feel  melancholy  when  I  look  around  and 
see  everything  but  the  venerable  owner  of  these  goods.  Well  did 
the  preacher  say,  "  all  is  vanity.  " 

Sq.  Please  to  be  seated,  gentlemen.  [He  puts  on  his  spectacles, 
and  begins  to  read  slowly.]  Imprimis;  whereas  my  nephew,  Francis 
Millington,  by  his  disobedience  and  ungrateful  conduct,  has  shown 
himself  unworthy  of  my  bounty,  and  incapable  of  managing  my 
large  estate,  I  do  hereby  give  and  bequeath  all  my  houses,  farms, 
stocks,  bonds,  moneys,  and  property,  both  personal  and  real,  to  my 
dear  cousins,  Samuel  Swipes,  of  Malt  Street,  brewer,  and  Chris- 
topher Currie,  of  Fly  Court,  saddler.  [The  Squire  takes  off  his 
spectacles,  to  wipe  them.] 

Sw.     Generous  creature!     Kind  soul!     I  always  loved  her. 

C.  She  was  good,  she  was  kind;  —  and,  brother  Swipes,  when  we 
divide,  I  think  I'll  take  the  mansion-house. 

Sw.  Not  so  fast,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Currie.  My  wife  has  long 
had  her  eye  upon  that,  and  must  have  it. 


118  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

C.  There  will  be  two  words  to  that  bargain,  Mr.  Swipes.  And, 
besides,  I  ought  to  have  the  first  choice.  Did  I  not  lend  her  a  new 
chaise  every  time  she  wished  to  ride?  And  who  knows  what  in- 
fluence— 

Sw.  Am  I  not  named  first  in  her  will?  and  did  I  not  furnish  her 
with  my  best  small  beer,  for  more  than  six  months?  And  who 
knows  — 

F.     Gentlemen,  I  must  leave  you.     [Going.] 

Sq.  [Putting  on  his  spectacles  very  deliberately.]  Pray,  gentle- 
men, keep  your  seats.  I  have  not  done  yet.  Let  me  see;  where 
was  I?  Ay,  "  All  my  property,  both  personal  and  real,  to  my  dear 
cousins,  Samuel  Swipes,  of  Malt  Street,  brewer,"  — 

Sw.     Yes. 

Sq.     "  And  Christopher  Currie,  of  Fly  Court,  saddler,"  — 

C.     Yes. 

Sq.  To  have  and  to  hold,  in  trust,  for  the  sole  and  exclusive 
benefit  of  my  nephew,  Francis  Millington,  until  he  shall  have  at- 
tained the  age  of  twenty-one  years,  by  which  time  I  hope  he  will 
have  so  far  reformed  his  evil  habits,  as  that  he  may  safely  be  intrusted 
with  the  large  fortune  which  I  hereby  bequeath  to  him." 

Sw.  What  is  all  this?  You  don't  mean  that  we  are  humbugged? 
In  trust!  How  does  that  appear?  Where  is  it? 

Sq.     There;  in  two  words  of  as  good  old  English  as  I  ever  penned. 

C.  Pretty  well  too,  Mr.  Squire,  if  we  must  be  sent  for,  to  be 
made  a  laughing  stock  of.  She  shall  pay  for  every  ride  she  has  had 
out  of  my  chaise,  I  promise  you. 

Sw.  And  for  every  drop  of  my  beer.  Fine  times,  if  two  sober, 
hard-working  citizens  are  to  be  brought  here,  to  be  made  the  sport 
of  a  graceless  profligate.  But  we  will  manage  his  property  for  him, 
Mr.  Currie;  we  will  make  him  feel  that  trustees  are  not  to  be  trifled 
with. 

C.     That  we  will. 

Sq.  Not  so  fast,  gentlemen;  for  the  instrument  is  dated  three 
years  ago;  and  the  young  gentleman  must  be  already  of  age,  and 
able  to  take  care  of  himself.  Is  it  not  so,  Francis? 

F.     It  is,  your  worship. 

Sq.  Then,  gentlemen,  having  attended  to  the  breaking  of  the 
seal,  according  to  law,  you  are  released  from  any  further  trouble 
about  the  business. 

A  RIDDLE 

I'm  a  new  contradiction,  I'm  new  and  I'm  old, 
I'm  often  in  tatters,  and  oft  deck'd  in  gold; 
Though  I  never  could  read,  yet  letter'd  I'm  found; 
Though  blind,  I  enlighten;  though  loose,  I  am  bound; 
I  am  always  in  black,  and  I'm  always  in  white; 
I  am  grave  and  I'm  gay,  I  am  heavy  and  light, 
In  form,  too,  I  differ  —  I'm  thick  and  I'm  thin, 
I've  no  flesh,  and  no  bones,  yet  I'm  covered  with  skin; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  119 

I've  more  points  than  the  compass,  more  stops  than  the  flute  — 

I  sing  without  voice,  without  speaking  confute; 

I'm  English,  I'm  German,  I'm  French  and  I'm  Dutch; 

Some  love  me  too  fondly;   some  slight  me  too  much; 

I  often  die  soon,  though  I  sometimes  live  ages, 

And  no  monarch  alive  has  so  many  pages. 

Hannah  Moore. 

XXXIV.     ASSIMILATION    NOT    IMITATION 

Hark!     Hark!  it  is  the  clash  of  arms  — 

The  bells  begin  to  toll  — 
"  He  is  coming!  he  is  coming! 

God's  mercy  on  his  soul." 
From  "  Execution  of  Montrose."  William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun. 

138.  In  the  preceding,  why  are  the  last  two  lines 
quoted?     What  would  be  the  effect  of  trying  to  imitate 
the  "  toll "  of  the  bells  in  these  words?     Why  would 
this  interfere  with  the  feeling  for  the  hero? 

In  the  following,  since  the  last  quotation  echoes  the 
spirit  of  the  drum,  why  should  we  not  imitate  the  drum 
in  speaking  the  words?  Why  would  imitation  destroy 
the  imaginative  and  sympathetic  realization  of  the 
thought? 

Let  me  of  my  heart  take  counsel: 
War  is  not  of  life  the  sum; 
Who  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harvest 
When  the  autumn  days  shall  come 
But  the  drum 
Echoed,  "  Come! 

Death  shall  reap  the  braver  harvest," 
Said  the  solemn-sounding  drum. 
From  "  The  Reveille."  Francis  Bret  Harte. 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer, 

With  heigh!  the  doxy  over  the  dale, 
Why,  then  comes  in  the  sweet  o'  the  year; 

For  the  red  blood  reigns  in  the  winter's  pale. 
From  "  A  Winter's  Tale."  William  Shakespeare.. 

139.  Why  would  an  imitation  of  the  song  of  Annie 
Laurie  interfere  with  the  real  spirit  of  the  "  Song  of  the 
Camp  "  ? 

They  sang  of  love,  and  not  of  fame; 

Forgot  was  Britain's  glory, 
Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name, 

But  all  sang  Annie  Laurie. 
From  "  Song  of  the  Camp."  Bayard  Taylor. 


120  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

140.  If  you  read  the  following  passage,  making  the 
changes  first  by  mechanical  imitation  and  secondly  by 
imaginative  and  sympathetic  insight,  what  are  some  of 
the  differences?     In  what  clauses  would  the  differences 
be  greatest? 

Words  are  instruments  of  music:  an  ignorant  man  uses  them  for 
jargon;  but  when  a  master  touches  them  they  have  unexpected  life 
and  soul.  Some  words  sound  out  like  drums;  some  breathe  memories 
sweet  as  flutes;  some  call  like  a  clarionet;  some  shout  a  charge 
like  trumpets;  some  are  sweet  as  children's  talk;  others  rich  as  a 
mother's  answering  back. 

141.  Should  you  try  to  express  objects,  sounds,  or 
actions   themselves,   or   the   impressions   they   produce 
upon  you?     What  would  be  the  difference  in  reading 
the  following,  first,  imitating  the  cricket;   next,  express- 
ing your  feeling  for  the  cricket? 

CRICKET   SONG 

Welcome  with  thy  clicking,  cricket! 

Clicking  songs  of  sober  mirth; 
Autumn  stripping  field  and  thicket, 

Brings  thee  to  my  hearth, 
Where  thy  clicking  shrills  and  quickens, 
While  the  mist  of  twilight  thickens. 

Lately,  by  the  garden  wicket, 

Where  the  thick  grass  grew  unclipt, 

And  the  rill  beside  thee,  cricket, 
Silver-trickling  slipt, 

Thou,  in  midday's  silent  glitter, 

Mocked  the  flickering  linnet's  twitter. 

Now  thou  art,  my  cheerful  cricket, 

Nimble  quickener  of  my  song; 
Not  a  thought  but  thou  shalt  nick  it 

In  thy  lowly  tongue, 
And  my  dock,  the  moments  ticking, 
Is  thy  constant  clicking,  clicking. 

No  annoy,  good-humored  cricket, 

With  thy  trills  is  ever  blent; 
Spleen  of  mine,  how  dost  thou  trick  it 

To  a  calm  content! 
So  by  thicket,  hearth,  or  wicket, 
Click  thy  little  lifetime,  cricket! 

Bayard  Taylor. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  121 

142.  Read  the  following  in  two  ways,  first  imitating 
the  Song  Sparrow  in  giving  "Good  cheer;"  and  then 
with  a  true  imaginative  and  sympathetic  realization  of 
the  whole  scene,  feeling  deep  impressions  successively 
of  the  Meadow  Lark,  the  Blue  Birds,  the  Chewink,  the 
Song  Sparrow  and  the  Hermit  Thrush.  What  will  be 
some  of  the  differences  between  the  two  readings? 

I  think  the  meadow-lark's  clear  sound 
Leaks  upward  slowly  from  the  ground, 

While  on  the  wing  the  blue-birds  ring 
Their  wedding-bells  to  woods  around. 
The  flirting  chewink  calls  his  dear 
Behind  the  bush;  and  very  near, 

Where  water  flows,  where  green  grass  grows, 
Song-sparrows  gently  sing,  "  Good  cheer." 
And,  best  of  all,  through  twilight's  calm 
The  hermit-thrush  repeats  his  psalm. 

How  much  I'm  wishing  to  go  a-fishing 
In  days  so  sweet  with  music's  balm! 
"  An  Angler's  Wish,"  Stanza  III.  Henry  Van  Dyke. 

Manifestation  is  the  revealing  of  our  own  thoughts  and  feelings  directly  by 
the  natural  signs  in  voice  and  body. 

Representation  suggests  something  of  the  objective  source  of  our  impres- 
sions. Manifestation  is  subjective;  representation  results  from  an  intense 
realization  which  leads  to  objective  suggestion. 

Imitation  is  an  endeavor  to  reproduce  mechanically  objective  facts. 

In  any  true  expression  such  extreme  representative  words  or  rather  syllables 
as  arc  found  in  this  poem  are  very  few.  If  the  attention  centers  in  giving  them 
literally,  then  the  spirit  of  the  poem  will  be  entirely  lost.  Even  such  imitative 
sounds  must  not  become  pure  imitation;  they  must  be  sympathetic,  imagina- 
tive and  suggestive,  and  as  far  as  possible  the  direct  effect  of  a  sympathetic  ad- 
miration for  the  bird  and  a  genuine  dramatic  identifying  of  ourselves  with  it. 
The  impression  produced  upon  us  must  be  genuine  and  direct;  above  all,  we 
must  never  imitate  any  other  reader  when  we  represent  such  sounds. 

Imitation  is  a  mechanical  thing,  and  excludes  imagination.  Dr.  Van  Dyke's 
intention  evidently  was  to  make  the  Hermit  Thrush  the  climactic  impression  in 
this  stanza.  The  impression  received  from  each  successive  bird  is  definite,  de- 
cided and  different  and  will  cause  a  different  manifestation.  The  "  Good 
cheer  "  has  an  objective  element,  but  it  is  suggestive  or  only  a  hint.  The  feel- 
ing of  the  joyousness,  the  jollity,  the  playfulness  of  this  song  must  be  felt  and 
color  the  representation.  It  must  not  be  imitative.  The  objective  element 
furnishes  a  fine  contrast  to  the  deep  subjective  feeling  of  the  poem  which  ran 
be  expressed  only  by  manifestation. 

The  imagination  always  acts  spontaneously  and  from  within  outward.  It 
never  tries  to  imitate;  it  never  acts  mechanically  or  artificially.  It  is  the 
basis  of  all  sympathy.  It  is  the  primary  element  in  all  art. 

The  greatest  hindrances  to  imagination  are  a  lack  of  careful  observation 
and  sympathetic  attention,  a  mechanical  attitude  of  mind,  such  as  imitation. 
Imagination  is  creative  and  to  use  it  at  all  we  must  feel  its  energy  within  us; 
we  must  not  copy  but  allow  our  spontaneous  energy  simple  and  direct  mani- 
festation. 


122  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

143.  What  are  some  of  the  differences  between  imi- 
tation and  representation?  What  are  some  of  the  dan- 
gers in  giving  such  words  as  the  "  rat-tat-tat "  of  the 
woodpecker  in  the  following?  Are  these  words  really 
imitative,  or  poetically  representative? 

HOW  THE  WOODPECKER   KNOWS 
Boy  at  the  window:  — 

"  How  does  he  know  where  to  dig  his  hole, 
The  woodpecker  there  on  the  elm-tree  bole? 
How  does  he  know  what  kind  of  a  limb 
To  use  for  a  drum,  and  to  burrow  in? 
How  does  he  find  where  the  young  grubs  grow  — 
I'd  like  to  know?  " 

The  woodpecker  flew  to  a  maple  limb, 
And  drummed  a  tattoo  that  was  fun  for  him. 
"  No  breakfast  here!     It's  too  hard  for  that," 
He  said,  as  down  on  his  tail  he  sat. 
"  Just  listen  to  this:  rmr  rat-tat- tat." 

Away  to  the  pear  tree,  out  of  sight, 
With  a  cheery  call  and  a  jumping  flight! 
He  hopped  around  till  he  found  a  stub, 
"  Ah,  here's  the  place  to  look  for  a  grub! 
'Tis  moist  and  dead  —  rrrrr  rub-dub-dub." 

To  a  branch  of  the  apple  Downy  hied, 

And  hung  by  his  toes  to  the  under  side. 

"  'Twill  be  sunny  here  in  this  hollow  trunk; 

It's  dry  and  soft,  with  a  heart  of  punk, 

Just  the  place  for  a  nest  —  rmr  runk-tunk-tunk." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  boy.     "  Just  a  rap  or  two, 
Then  listen  as  any  bright  boy  might  do; 
You  can  tell  ripe  melons  and  garden  stuff 
In  the  very  same  way  —  it's  easy  enough." 
By  permission  of  the  author.  William  Joseph  Long. 


Once  there  was  a  poor  old  hack 
Who  had  to  write  for  bread, 
Who  meant  to  write  an  epic  poem 
If  any  time  his  wife  should  show  him 

They'd  bread  enough  ahead; 
But  need  kept  pace  with  the  supply 
Until  his  time  had  come  to  die.  .  .  . 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  123 

This  poet's  soul  went  out  at  night 

And  up  the  Path  of  Souls; 
And  Homer  met  him  at  the  gate 
And  welcomed  him  as  if  a  mate 

Upon  the  eternal  rolls. 

"  Souls  know,"  he  said,  "  the  songs  unsung 
As  well  as  those  that  find  a  tongue.  .  .  . 

From  "  The  Unexpressed."  Sam  Walter  Foss. 

"  Dreams  in  Homespun." 

Copyright,  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Co. 

XXXV.  EXTREME  CHANGES  IN  EXPERIENCES 

Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring  O  bells! 

But  I,  with  mournful  tread, 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 

Fallen  cold  and  dead. 
From  "  On  Lincoln's  Death."  Walt  Whitman. 

144.  Render  decided  transitions,  passing  from  one 
extreme  to  another.  Take  time;  allow  imagination  to 
change  the  picture,  feeling  to  awaken,  and  voice  and 
body  to  respond.  Let  every  change  come  naturally  and 
sympathetically.  Be  sure  that  every  change  in  expres- 
sion is  the  direct  effect  of  change  in  the  mind.  Do  not 
mechanically  manipulate  the  voice;  but  allow  imagina- 
tion and  feeling  to  modulate  it. 

Stay,  O  stay!  nor  thus  forlorn 
Leave  me  unbless'd,  unpitied,  here  to  mourn: 
In  yon  bright  track,  that  fires  the  western  skies, 
They  melt,  they  vanish  from  my  eyes. 
"  The  Bard."  Thomas  Gray. 

Plunged  in  the  battery-smoke,  right  through  the  line  they  broke; 
Cossack  and  Russian  reeled  from  the  saber-stroke,  shattered  and 
sundered.  Then  they  rode  back,  but  not  —  not  the  six  hundred. 
From  "  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

"  By  the  God  that  made  thee,  Randolph, 
Tell  us  what  mischance  hath  come!  " 
Then  he  lifts  his  riven  banner, 
And  the  asker's  voice  is  dumb. 
From  "  Flodden  Field."  William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun. 

Practice  of  transitions  is  the  best  remedy  for  monotony,  indifference,  or 
neutrality.  To  make  changes  requires  sympathetic  observation  and  identi- 
fication. Bach  idea  or  event  must  be  thought  and  felt  in  succession.  Realiza- 
tion and  expression  must  change  in  direct  response  to  each  successive  imagi- 
native picture.  Changes  also  test  responsive  conditions  of  voice. 


124  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

145.  What  are  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  a  transi- 
tion in  humor,  from  the  point  of  view  of  thought  and 
feeling  and  of  voice  modulation? 

HE  FOUND   IT 

A  well  known  Indiana  man, 

One  dark  night  last  week, 
Went  to  the  cellar  with  a  match, 

In  search  of  a  gas  leak. 
(He  found  it.) 

John  Welch  by  curiosity 

(Dispatches  state)  was  goaded; 
He  squinted  in  his  old  shotgun 

To  see  if  it  was  loaded. 
(It  was.) 

A  man  in  Macon  stopped  to  watch 

A  patent  cigar  clipper; 
He  wondered  if  his  finger  was 

Not  quicker  than  the  nipper. 
(It  wasn't.) 

A  Maine  man  read  that  human  eyes 

Of  hypnotism  were  full ; 
He  went  to  see  if  it  would  work 
Upon  an  angry  bull. 
(It  wouldn't.) 
From  "  San  Francisco  Bulletin." 

146.  Render  Victor  Hugo's  "On  a  Barricade,"  mak- 
ing   long    pauses    to    realize   the    thought    and    feeling 
of  each  character.     Give  such  wide  contrasts  as  will 
express  the  dramatic  spirit  of  the  whole. 

ON   A  BARRICADE 

Upon  a  barricade,  across  the  streets, 

Where  blood  of  criminal  and  hero  meets, 

Ta'en  with  the  men,  a  child  of  twelve  or  less! 

"  Were  you  one  of  them  —  you?  "     The  boy  said  "  Yes." 

"  Well,"  said  the  officer,  "  then  you'll  be  shot; 

Wait  for  your  turn."     The  child  saw  on  the  spot 

All  his  companions  'neath  the  wall  fall  low. 

Tt>  the  officer  he  cried,  "  Sir,  let  me  go, 

And  take  this  watch  to  mother,  who's  at  home." 

"  You  wish  to  'scape!  "  — "  No!  I'll  come  back."  —  "  This  scum 

Are  cowards.  —  Where  do  you  live?  "  —  "  There,  by  the  well; 

And,  Captain,  I'll  return  — the  truth  I  tell."  — 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  125 

"  Be  off,  young  scamp."     The  child  ran  off,  and  then 

At  the  plain  trick  laughed  officer  and  men.  — 

Death's  rattle  mingling  with  their  laugh  was  heard; 

But  the  laugh  ceased  when  suddenly  appeared 
.    The  child,  with  bloodless  cheek  but  dauntless  eye, 

And,  leaning  'gainst  the  wall,  said,  "  Here  am  I !  " 

Death  fled  ashamed.  —  The  Captain  said,  "  Be  free. 

Child !  —  I  know  not  in  storms,  where  mingled  be 

All  things  right,  wrong,  knave,  hero  —  in  this  fray, 

What  made  you  take  a  part:  —  But  this  I  say, 

Your  soul,  untaught,  was  yet  sublimely  great, 

Good,  brave  —  who  in  the  very  jaws  of  fate, 

First  to  your  mother  walked  —  then  to  the  grave! 

Children  have  candour  —  men  remorse  may  have. 

No  fault  of  yours  to  march  where  others  led; 

But  noble,  valiant  thou!  who  chose  instead 

Of  safety,  life,  spring,  dawn,  and  boyish  play, 

The  black  blank  wall  where  slain  thy  comrades  lay." 
Translated  by  Dean  Canington.  Victor  Hugo. 

147.  Observe  in  some  animated  passage  what  special 
mental  actions  and  voice  modulations  change  in  ex- 
pressing the  life  and  variety  of  experience,  and  the 
movement  and  life  of  the  whole. 

HARMOSAN 

Now  the  third  and  fatal  conflict  for  the  Persian  throne  was  done, 
and  the  Moslem's  fiery  valor  had  the  crowning  victory  won;  Har- 
mosan,  the  last  and  boldest  the  invader  to  defy,  captive,  overborne 
by  numbers,  they  were  bringing  forth  to  die. 

Then  exclaimed  that  noble  captive:  "  Lo,  I  perish  in  my  thirst; 
give  me  but  one  drink  of  water,  and  let  then  arrive  the  worst!  " 
In  his  hand  he  took  the  goblet;  but  awhile  the  draught  forbore, 
seeming  doubtfully  the  purpose  of  the  victors  to  explore.  Well 
might  then  have  paused  the  bravest,  —  for,  around  him,  angry  foes 
with  a  hedge  of  naked  weapons  did  that  lonely  man  inclose. 

"  But  what  fear'st  thou?  "  cried  the  caliph;  "  is  it,  friend,  a 
secret  blow?  Fear  it  not!  our  gallant  Moslems  no  such  treacherous 
dealing  know.  Thou  may'st  quench  thy  thirst  securely,  for  thou 
shalt  not  die  before  thou  hast  drunk  that  cup  of  water  —  this  re- 
prieve is  thine  —  no  more!  " 

Quick  the  satrap  dashed  the  goblet  down  to  earth  with  ready 
hand,  and  the  liquid  sank,  forever  lost  amid  the  burning  sand. 
"  Thou  hast  said  that  mine  my  life  is,  till  the  water  of  that  cup 
I  have  drained;  then  bid  thy  servants  that  spilled  water  gather 
up!  " 


126  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

For  a  moment  stood  the  caliph  as  by  doubtful  passions  stirred; 
then  exclaimed,  "  Forever  sacred  must  remain  a  monarch's  word. 
Bring  another  cup,  and  straightway  to  the  noble  Persian  give. 
Drink,  I  said  before,  and  perish,  —  now  I  bid  thee  drink  and  live!  " 

Richard  Cbenevix  Trench. 

XXXVI.     MODULATIONS   CAUSED   BY   EXPERIENCE 

"  Make  way  for  liberty,"  he  cried; 
Made  way  for  liberty  and  died. 
Arnold  Winkelried  at  the  Battle  of  Lake  Sempach.  James  Montgomery. 

148.  What  are  the  chief  differences  between  the  utter- 
ances of  the  two  preceding  lines;  or  between  the  two 
stanzas  of  the  following? 

SIGHT  AND   INSIGHT 

By  land  and  sea  I  travelled  wide; 

My  thought  the  earth  could  span; 
And  wearily  I  turned  and  cried, 

"  O  little  world  of  man!  " 

I  wandered  by  a  greenwood's  side 

The  distance  of  a  rod ; 
My  eyes  were  opened,  and  I  cried, 

"  O  mighty  world  of  God!  " 

F.  W.  Bourdillon. 

149.  What  causes  us  to  give  a  sentence  or  clause 
rapidly  or  slowly?     Why  is  it  not  natural  to  have  one 
movement  that  never  varies?     Contrast  many  passages 
or  single  lines  where  there  is  a  sudden  transition  and  tell 
where  your  movement  is  rapid,  where  slow,  and  why. 

With  trembling  haste  and  breathless,  with  noiseless  step  she  sped; 
Horses  and  weary  cattle  were  standing  in  the  shed; 
She  loosed  the  strong  white  charger,  that  fed  from  out  her  hand, 
She  mounted  and  she  turn'd  his  head  toward  her  native  land. 

Out  —  out  into  the  darkness  —  faster,  and  still  more  fast; 
The  smooth  grass  flies  behind  her,  the  chestnut  wood  is  pass'd; 
She  looks  up;   the  clouds  are  heavy:  Why  is  her  steed  so  slow?  — 
Scarcely  the  wind  beside  them  can  pass  them  as  they  go. 

Observe  that  excitement  increases  the  pulsation,  and  control  of  excitement 
tends  to  make  movement  more  slow.  In  the  next  to  the  last  line  of  the  second 
stanza  of  the  above,  why  is  the  movement  rapid?  In  the  next,  why  is  it 
slower?  It  is  because  of  the  change  of  point  of  view.  In  one  line  the  reader 
identifies  himself  with  the  maiden,  in  the  other  he  stands  away  from  her  and 
becomes  himself  and  is  surprised  at  the  fearful  rapidity  with  which  she  rides. 
This  causes  him  to  speak  slowly  and  express  admiration  for  her. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  127 

"Faster!  "  she  cries,  "O,  faster!  "     Eleven,  the  church-bells  chime: 

"  O  God,"  she  cries,  "  help  Bregenz,  and  bring  me  there  in  time!  " 

But  louder  than  bells'  ringing,  or  lowing  of  the  kine, 

Grows  nearer  in  the  midnight  the  rushing  of  the  Rhine. 

From  "  A  Legend  of  Bregenz."  Adelaide  Procter. 

150.  If  you  read  these  sentences  truly  realizing  the 
Master's  warning,  what  changes  would  you  make  be- 
fore the  last  clause  of  each  of  the  two  sentences? 

Why  does  regret  make  us  go  slower?  What  is  the 
etymology  of  the  word  "  regret  ?  "  What  other  changes 
of  voice  do  you  find  at  these  points? 

Enter  ye  in  by  the  narrow  gate:  for  wide  is  the  gate,  and  broad 
is  the  way,  that  leadeth  to  destruction,  and  many  are  they  that 
enter  in  thereby.  For  narrow  is  the  gate,  and  straitened  the  way 
that  leadeth  unto  life,  and  few  are  they  that  find  it. 

151.  In   simple   prose   find   and   express   degrees   of 
importance  by  change  of  movement. 

For  now  we  see  in  a  mirror,  darkly;  but  then  face  to  face.  Now 
I  know  in  part;  but  then  shall  I  know  fully  even  as  also  I  was  fully 
known. 

152.  Observe  the  contrasts  in  the  movement  of  par- 
enthetical passages.     Usually,  these  are  less  important, 
but  occasionally  more  important  than  the  context. 

God  bless  the  King!  —  I  mean  the  Faith's  Defender; 
God  bless  (no  harm  in  blessing)  the  Pretender! 
But  who  Pretender  is,  or  who  is  King, 
God  bless  us  all !  —  that's  quite  another  thing. 
"  A  Jacobite  Toast."  John  Byron. 

Observe  in  the  passage  from  Paul  that  the  first  clause  is  taken  for  granted; 
nobody  will  dispute  it,  and  hence  the  pulsations  are  more  rapid  and  less  vigor- 
ous. While  in  the  second  clause  of  the  first  sentence  there  is  a  feeling  that  a 
profound  truth  is  conveyed,  something  that  people  do  not  ordinarily  realize. 
This  causes  the  reader  to  enlarge  the  rhythmic  pulsations;  give  strong  phrase 
accent;  make  long  pauses,  and  speak  more  slowly.  In  the  second  sentence 
there  is  a  similar  contrast  between  the  clauses. 

When  the  reader  fully  realizes  what  he  is  saying,  extreme  changes  occur 
which  are  deeper  than  mere  time;  the  real  change  is  in  the  rhythmic  pulsations 
of  thought  and  feeling.  It  is  not  time  but  rhythm  that  expresses  true  assimila- 
tion. 

However  many  changes  there  are  in  the  other  voice  modulations,  changes  in 
movement  are  of  greater  importance:  they  suggest  the  spirit  of  the  passage. 


128  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

153.   Suggest  by  your  voice  degrees  of  demonstra- 
tion, declamation,   excitement,   and  explosion,   in  con- 
trast with  degrees  of  control  and  of  intensity. 

I  hold  it  truth,  with  him  who  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

Love  is  our  highest  word,  and  the  synonym  of  God. 

THREE   DESTINIES 

Three  roses  nod  and  talk 
Across  a  garden  walk; 
One,  lifting  up  her  head, 
Clad  all  in  damask  red, 
Cries  gayly  in  her  pride, 
"  To-night,  full  far  and  wide, 
My  beauty  shall  be  seen, 
Adorning  Beauty's  queen." 

"  And  I,"  the  blush-rose  cries, 
"  Shall  be  the  envied  prize 
A  lover  shall  convey, 
Before  the  end  of  day, 
Unto  a  maiden  fair, 
And  she  will  kiss  and  wear 
My  blushes  in  her  breast: 
There  I  shall  sleep  and  rest." 

"  And  I,"  the  white  rose  sighs,  — 
"  Before  the  sunshine  dies, 
I  shall  lie  hid  from  sight 
Within  a  grave's  dark  night; 
But  not  in  vain  the  bloom, 
If  I  have  cheered  the  gloom, 
Or  helped  to  soothe  and  bless 
A  mourner's  loneliness." 

Nora  Perry. 

Such  a  starved  bank  of  moss  till,  that  May  morn, 
Blue  ran  the  flash  across:   violets  were  born! 
Sky  —  what  a  scowl  of  cloud  till,  near  and  far, 
Ray  on  ray  split  the  shroud:   splendid,  a  star! 
World  —  how  it  walled  about  life  with  disgrace 
Till  God's  own  smile  came  out:   that  was  thy  face! 
Prologue,  "  The  Two  Poets  of  the  Croisic."  Robert  Browning. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  129 

Far  up  the  dim  twilight  fluttered 

Moth- wings  of  vapour  and  flame: 
The  lights  danced  over  the  mountains, 

Star  after  star  they  came. 

The  lights  grew  thicker  unheeded, 

For  silent  and  still  were  we; 
Our  hearts  were  thrilled  with  a  beauty 

Our  eyes  could  never  see. 
From  "  Homeward  Songs  by  the  Way."  A.  E. 

THE  RAILWAY   TRAIN 

Through  the  mold  and  through  the  clay, 

Through  the  corn  an^  through  the  hay, 

By  the  margin  of  the  lake, 

O'er  the  river,  through  the  brake, 

On  we  hie  with  screech  and  roar! 

Splashing,  flashing,  crashing,  dashing! 

Over  ridges,  gullies,  bridges! 
.     By  the  bubbling  rill,  and  mill,  — 

Highways,  byways, 
Hollow,  hill,  — 

Jumping,  bumping,  rocking,  roaring, 

Like  forty  thousand  giants  snoring ! 

O'er  the  aqueduct  and  bog, 
On  we  fly  with  ceaseless  jog, 
Every  instant  something  new, 
Every  moment  lost  to  view, 

Now  a  tavern,  now  a  steeple, 

Now  a  crowd  of  gazing  people, 

Now  a  hollow,  now  a  ridge, 

Now  a  crossway,  now  a  bridge. 

Glimpse  of  lonely  hut  and  mansion, 
Glimpse  of  ocean's  wide  expansion, 
Glimpse  of  foundry  and  of  forge, 
Glimpse  of  plain  and  mountain  gorge,  — 

Dash  along,  slash  along,  flash  along! 

On!  on  with  a  bump,  and  a  thump, 

And  a  roll! 

Hies  the  railway  train  to  its  destined  goal. 

Not  known. 

154.  In  these  passages  which  causes  you  to  think 
intensely?  which  to  feel  deeply?  which  to  do  both? 
What  are  the  differences  in  the  expression? 


130  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

A  SONG   FOR  FLAG   DAY 

Out  on  the  breeze,  o'er  land  and  seas, 
A  beautiful  banner  is  streaming. 
Shining  its  stars,  splendid  its  bars, 
Under  the  sunshine  'tis  gleaming. 
Over  the  brave  long  may  it  wave, 
Peace  to  the  world  ever  bringing. 
While  to  the  stars,  linked  with  the  bars, 
Hearts  will  forever  be  singing. 

Lydia  Coonley  Ward. 

If  poetry  be  thought  in  flower,  goodness  is  thought  in  fruit. 
THE  THRUSH 

When  sunny  glades  'rrlid  woodland  shades 

Betoken  winter  past, 
And  peeping  flowers  'neath  birchen  bowers 

Foretell  the  spring  at  last; 
The  song-thrush  then,  in  wood  and  glen, 

Breaks  forth  in  sweetest  song; 
From  throbbing  throat  his  rich,  full  note 

Comes  piping  clear  and  strong. 

On  fir-top  high,  against  the  sky, 

Now  mark  his  dainty  form, 
As  by  the  hour,  through  breeze  and  shower, 

He  bravely  breasts  the  storm 
The  while  he  swings  he  gaily  sings 

His  happy  roundelay; 
Good  cheer!  good  cheer!  the  spring  is  here! 

He  almost  seems  to  say. 

Dear  little  friend!  may  grief  ne'er  rend 

His  bonny  speckled  breast; 
But  may  kind  fate  defend  his  mate, 

And  guard  her  clay -lined  nest; 
Till,  by-and-by,  the  young  ones  fly 

The  summer  woods  among, 
And  safe  from  harm  in  turn  they'll  charm 

Another  spring  with  song. 

Hugh  Lawler. 
THE  HERO 

What  makes  a  hero?  —  not  success,  not  fame, 
Inebriate  merchants,  and  the  loud  acclaim 

Of  glutted  Avarice,  —  caps  toss'd  up  in  air, 

Or  pen  of  journalist  with  flourish  fair; 
Bells  peal'd,  stars,  ribbons,  and  a  titular  name  — 

These,  though  his  rightful  tribute,  he  can  spare; 
His  rightful  tribute,  not  his  end  or  aim, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  131 

Or  true  reward;   for  never  yet  did  these 
Refresh  the  soul,  or  set  the  heart  at  ease. 

What  makes  a  hero?  —  An  heroic  mind, 

Express'd  in  action,  in  endurance  prov'd. 
And  if  there  be  preeminence  of  right, 
Deriv'd  through  pain  well  suffer'd,  to  the  height 

Of  rank  heroic,  'tis  to  bear  unmov'd, 

Not  toil,  not  risk,  not  rage  of  sea  or  wind, 

Not  the  brute  fury  of  barbarians  blind, 

But  worse  —  ingratitude  and  poisonous  darts, 
Launch 'd  by  the  country  he  had  serv'd  and  lov'd: 

This,  with  a  free,  unclouded  spirit  pure, 
This,  in  the  strength  of  silence  to  endure, 

A  dignity  to  noble  deeds  imparts 

Beyond  the  gauds  and  trappings  of  renown; 

This  is  the  hero's  complement  and  crown; 
This  miss'd,  one  struggle  had  been  wanting  still, 
One  glorious  triumph  of  the  heroic  will, 

One  self-approval  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 

Sir  Henry  Taylor,  1800-1886. 

155.   What    voice    modulations    express    contrast   or 
change  of  feeling  in  the  following? 

THE  MOTHER 

There's  a  letter  on  the  bottom  of  the  pile, 

Its  envelope  a  faded  yellow  brown, 
It  has  traveled  to  the  city  many  a  mile, 

And  the  postmark  names  a  little  unknown  town. 

But  the  hurried  man  of  business  pushes  all  the  others  by, 

And  on  the  scrawly  characters  he  turns  a  glistening  eye. 

He  forgets  the  cares  of  commerce  and  his  anxious  schemes  for  gain, 

The  while  he  reads  what  mother  writes  from  up  in  Maine. 

There  are  quirks  and  scratchy  quavers  of  the  pen 

Where  it  struggled  in  the  fingers  old  and  bent. 
There  are  places  that  he  has  to  read  again 

And  ponder  on  to  find  what  mother  meant. 

There  are  letters  on  his  table  that  enclose  some  bouncing  checks; 
There  are  letters  giving  promises  of  profits  on  his  "  specs." 
But  he  tosses  all  the  litter  by,  forgets  the  golden  rain, 
Until  he  reads  what  mother  writes  from  up  in  Maine. 

At  last  he  finds  "  with  love  —  we  all  are  well," 

And  softly  lays  the  homely  letter  down, 
And  dashes  at  his  headlong  tasks  pellmell, 

Once  more  the  busy,  anxious  man  of  town. 


132  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

But  whenever  in  his  duties  as  the  rushing  moments  fly 
That  faded  little  envelope  smiles  up  to  meet  his  eye, 
He  turns  again  to  labor  with  a  stronger,  truer  brain, 
From  thinking  on  what  mother  wrote  from  up  in  Maine. 

Through  all  the  day  he  dictates  brisk  replies, 

To  his  amanuensis  at  his  side,  — 
The  curt  and  stern  demand,  and  business  lies  — 

The  doubting  man  cajoled,  and  threat  defied. 

And  then  at  dusk  when  all  are  gone  he  drops  his  worldly  mask 
And  takes  his  pen  and  lovingly  performs  a  welcome  task; 
For  never  shall  the  clicking  type  or  shortened  scrawl  profane 
The  message  to  the  dear  old  home  up  there  in  Maine. 

Holman  F.  Day. 

XXXVII.   SYMPATHETIC  RESPONSIVENESS  OF  TONE 

0  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud! 

1  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life!     I  bleed! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chain'd  and  bow'd 
One  too  like  thee:  tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud. 
From  "  Ode  to  the  West  Wind."  Percy  Bysshc  Shelley. 

156.  When  the  mother  says  "  Tom's  come  home," 
how  do  her  joy  and  love  affect  her  breathing,  her  body, 
and  her  tone? 

With  its  heavily  rocking  and  swinging  load, 
The  stage-coach  rolls  up  the  mountain  road. 
The  mowers  lean  on  their  scythes  and  say, 
"  Hullo!  what  brings  Big  George  this  way?  " 
The  children  climb  the  slats  and  wait 
To  see  him  drive  past  the  door-yard  gate; 
When,  four  in  hand,  sedate  and  grand, 
He  brings  the  old  craft  like  a  ship  to  land. 
At  the  window,  mild  grandmotherly  eyes 
Beam  from  their  glasses  with  quaint  surprise, 
Grow  wide  with  wonder,  and  guess,  and  doubt; 
Then  a  quick,  half-stifled  voice  shrieks  out, 
"  Tom!     Tom's  come  home!  " 

The  face  at  the  casement  disappears, 

To  shine  at  the  door,  all  joy  and  tears, 

As  a  traveller,  dusty  and  bearded  and  brown, 

Over  the  wheel  steps  lightly  down. 

The  elasticity  of  the  voice  can  be  improved  by  rendering  lines  expressive 
of  deep  passion  as  intensely  as  possible.  Each  situation  should  be  so  deeply 
realized  that  the  texture  of  all  parts  of  the  body  and  especially  of  the  muscles 
controlling  the  breath  is  made  soft  or  firm  according  to  the  passion.  The  voice 
should  suggest  sympathetically  as  large  and  varied  pictures  as  possible  —  not 
by  loudness  or  labor,  but  by  greater  elasticity  and  variations  in  tone. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  133 

"  Well,  mother!  "     "  My  son!  "     And  to  his  breast 
A  forward-tottering  form  is  pressed. 
She  lies  there,  and  cries  there;  now  at  arm's-length 
Admires  his  manly  size  and  strength 
(While  he  winks  hard  one  misty  eye) ; 
Then  calls  to  the  youngsters  staring  nigh  — 
"  Quick!  go  for  your  gran'ther!  run,  boys,  run! 
Tell  him  your  uncle  —  tell  him  his  son  — 
Our  Tom's  come  home!  " 

With  twitching  cheek  and  quivering  lid 
(A  soft  heart  under  the  hard  lines  hid), 
And  "  Tom,  how  d'e  do?  "  in  a  husky  voice, 
He  grasps  with  rough,  strong  hand  the  boy's  — 
A  boy's  no  more!     "  I  shouldn't  have  known 
That  beard.  "     While  Tom's  fine  barytone 
Rolls  out  from  his  deep  chest  cheerily, 
"  You're  hale  as  ever,  I'm  glad  to  see." 
In  the  low  back  porch  the  mother  stands, 
And  rubs  her  glasses  with  trembling  hands, 
And,  smiling  with  eyes  that  blear  and  blink, 
Chimes  in  "  I  never!  "  and  "  Only  think! 

Our  Tom's  come  home!  " 
From  "  Tom's  Come  Home."  John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 

157.  Render  hearty  characters  dramatically.  Be  sure 
there  is  no  imitation  but  instead  sympathetic  identifi- 
cation and  harmonious  and  direct  response  of  body  and 
voice  not  only  to  thinking  and  feeling,  but  to  the  imagi- 
native conception  of  the  characters. 

When  a  bit  of  sunshine  hits  ye, 

After  passing  of  a  cloud, 
When  a  fit  of  laughter  gits  ye 

An'  ye'r  spine  is  feelin'  proud, 
Don't  fergit  to  up  and  fling  it 

At  a  soul  that's  feelin'  blue, 
For  the  minit  that  ye  sling  it 

It's  a  boomerang  to  you. 

Captain  Jack  Crawford. 

All  dialect  is  primarily  dramatic.  The  dramatic  results  from  any  sym- 
pathetic flexibility  of  mind.  Stiffness  is  nearly  always  mental.  It  is  a  lack 
of  the  right  awakening  of  the  dramatic  instinct.  Work  for  any  phase  of  flex- 
ibility requires  as  a  first  step  attention  to  the  dramatic  instinct. 

Sometimes,  when  the  tone  is  narrow  and  constricted,  it  is  well  to  take  the 
hearty  words  of  some  genuine  and  sympathetic  character,  some  joyous  sailor  for 
example.  This  gets  the  student  out  of  himself,  awakens  dramatic  instinct,  causes 
responsiveness  of  voice,  and  tends  to  break  up  constrictions  and  stiffness. 

In  giving  dialects,  too  many  rely  entirely  on  mechanical  imitation.     Such 


134  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

158.  Realize  by  your  imagination,  and  suggest  sym- 
pathetically  by   your   voice,   the   impression   produced 
upon  you  by  various  pictures,  especially  those  that  are 
sublime  and  beautiful.     Avoid  loudness  or  labor  and 
suggest  your  pictures  by  variation  of  the  texture  of  your 
tone. 

Over  the  waves  we  roam,  our  home  is  on  the  sea; 
We  fear  no  roaring  foam,  for  sailors  bold  are  we. 

The  only  gift  is  a  portion  of  thyself. 

O  sacred  forms,  how  fair,  how  proud  you  look. 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  sky! 
"  William  Tell  to  His  Native  Mountains."  Sheridan  Knowlcs. 

All  service  ranks  the  same  with  God. 

Robert  Browning. 

Ye  stars!  which  are  the  poetry  of  heaven! 

If  in  your  bright  leaves  we  would  read  the  fate 

Of  men  and  empires,  —  'tis  to  be  forgiven, 

That  in  our  aspirations  to  be  great, 

Our  destinies  o'er  leap  their  mortal  state, 

And  claim  a  kindred  with  you;   for  ye  are 

A  beauty  and  a  mystery,  and  create 

In  us  such  love  and  reverence  from  afar, 

That  fortune,  fame,  power,  life,  have  named  themselves  a  star. 
"  Childe  Harold,"  Canto  iii.  Lord  Byron. 

159.  Can  you  distinguish  and  reveal  in  various  situa- 
tions the  different  kinds  and  degrees  of  poetic  exalta- 
tion? 

THE  TAPER 

I  stood  in  the  old  cathedral  amid  the  gloaming  cold ; 

Before  me  was  the  chancel,  and  unlit  lamps  of  gold. 

From  the  mullioned  window's  chalice  was  spilled  the  wine  of  light, 

And  across  the  winter  valleys  was  drawn  the  wing  of  night. 

The  frescoes  of  the  angels  above  me  were  unseen, 
And  viewless  were  the  statues  each  pillared  arch  between. 
The  chancel  door  swung  open;   there  came  a  feeble  light, 
Whose  halo  like  a  mantle  fell  o'er  the  acolyte. 

work  is,  of  course,  injurious  to  speech,  to  the  body,  and  to  thought.  There 
must  be  a  thorough  and  sympathetic  identification,  genuine  imagination,  and 
sympathetic  insight. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  135 

And  one  by  one  he  kindled  the  silver  lamps  and  gold, 
And  the  old  Cathedral's  glories  before  my  eyes  unrolled. 
The  taper's  light  was  feeble,  the  lamps  were  stars  of  flame; 
And  I  could  read  behind  them  Immanuel's  wondrous  name. 

The  taper  —  light's  evangel  —  touched  all  the  chandeliers, 
As  if  by  heaven  transfigured  appeared  the  saints  and  seers. 
Along  the  sculptured  arches  appeared  the  statues  dim; 
And  pealed  the  stormy  organ  the  peaceful  advent  hymn. 

And  as  the  form  retreating  passed  slowly  from  my  sight, 
Eclipsed  in  lights  it  kindled,  was  lost,  the  taper's  light. 
One  taper  lights  a  thousand,  yet  shines  as  it  has  shone; 
And  the  humblest  light  may  kindle  a  brighter  than  its  own. 

Hezekiah  Butterworth. 

Urgent  and  masterful  ashore, 

Man  dreams  and  plans,  and  more  and  more, 

As  ages  slip  away,  Earth  shows 

How  need  by  satisfaction  grows, 

And  more  and  more  its  patient  face 

Mirrors  the  driving  human  race. 

But  he  who  ploughs  the  abiding  deep 
No  furrow  leaves,  nor  stays  to  reap. 
Unmarred  and  unadorned,  the  sea 
Rolls  on  as  irresistibly 
As  when,  at  first,  the  shaping  thought 
Of  God  its  separation  wrought.  .  .  . 

Serene  it  basks  while  children's  hands 
Its  margin  score  and  pit  its  sands.  .  .  . 
Benign,  or  roused  by  savage  gales; 
Fog  veiled,  or  flecked  with  gleaming  sails;  .  .  . 
In  all  its  moods,  in  all  its  might, 
'Tis  the  same  sea  that  first  saw  light.  .  .  . 
From  "  The  Sea  Is  His."  Edward  Sandford  Martin. 


XXXVIII.     UNION    OF    MENTAL   ACTIONS   AND    VOICE 
MODULATIONS 

Hark!  from  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower, 
The  solemn  bell  has  tolled  the  midnight  hour. 

160.  Render  some  extreme  transition  and  observe  the 
different  modulations  that  result.  What  is  the  dif- 
ference in  voice  between  a  contrast  of  thoughts  and  a 
contrast  of  feelings? 


136  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Before  thy  feet  the  ways  divide: 

One  path  leads  up  to  heights  sublime; 

Downward  the  other  slopes,  where  bide 
The  refuse  and  the  wrecks  of  Time. 

Choose  then,  nor  falter  at  the  start, 

O  choose  the  nobler  path  and  part! 
From  "  The  Parting  of  the  Ways."  Joseph  B.  Gilder. 

UPON   THE  VALLEY'S   LAP 

Upon  the  valley's  lap  the  dewy  morning  throws 
A  thousand  pearly  drops  to  wake  a  single  rose. 
So,  often  in  the  course  of  life's  few  fleeting  years, 
A  single  pleasure  costs  the  soul  a  thousand  tears. 

F.  W.  Bourdillon. 

THE  BOASTFUL   RUSHLIGHT 

A  rushlight  fell  in  love  with  its  own  brilliancy  and  proudly  boasted: 
"  My  light  is  stronger  and  brighter  than  that  of  the  sun,  the  moon, 
and  the  stars." 

Hardly  had  it  ceased  speaking,  when  a  puff  of  wind  blew  out 
its  light. 

"  Cease  your  boasting,"  said  the  owner,  as  he  re-lighted  it. 
"  Be  content  to  shine  in  silence.  Who  was  ever  seen  to  re-light 
the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars?  Hereafter,  know  that  heavenly 
lights  do  not  blow  out.  " 

161.  Take  some  poem  printed  as  prose,  such  as  the 
following,  and  arrange  it  in  paragraphs;  also  in  its 
poetic  form.  Observe  that  in  verse  form  the  paragraph- 
ing is  not  indicated.  How  do  you  show  by  the  voice, 
part  as  related  to  part,  the  change  from  one  character 
to  another,  and  the  various  feelings?  How  can  all  parts 
be  brought  into  harmony  and  points  made  forcible? 

In  a  tree  lived  a  wren,  on  the  ground  lived  a  hen;  the  wren  looked 
for  food  here  and  there;  but  the  hen  had  wheat  and  good  things  to 
eat  —  said  the  wren,  "  I  declare,  'tisn't  fair!  It  is  really  too  bad!  " 
she  exclaimed  —  feeling  sad  —  "  to  go  out  when  it's  raining  this 
way!  and  to  earn  what  you  eat,  doesn't  make  your  food  sweet,  in 

Many  of  the  poems  in  this  book  are  printed  as  if  they  were  prose.  The 
student  should  in  every  case  study  out  the  verse  form  and  copy  it. 

The  object  of  printing  these  selections  as  prose  is  not  because  the  verse  form 
is  not  important,  but  because  it  is  important.  Its  character  should  be  felt  by 
the  student. 

The  special  advantage  of  this  unusual  form  of  printing  is  to  help  the  student 
to  avoid  sing-song;  to  call  his  attention  to  the  relation  of  part  to  part,  which 
is  only  hinted  at  in  paragraphing  and  which  is  often  lost  in  the  verse  method 
of  printing ;  and  to  aid  him  to  realize  the  dramatic  movement  and  the  necessity 
of  using  the  voice  modulations  to  show  the  relation  of  parts  to  each  other. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  137 

spite  of  what  some  folks  may  say.  Now  there  is  that  hen,"  said 
this  poor  little  wren,  "  she's  fed  till  she's  fat  as  a  drum;  while  I 
strive  and  sweat  for  each  grain  that  I  get,  and  nobody  gives  me  a 
crumb.  I  can't  see  for  my  life  why  the  good  farmer's  wife  treats 
her  so  much  better  than  me.  Suppose  on  the  ground  I  hop  care- 
lessly round  for  a  while,  and  just  see  what  I'll  see."  Said  this  small, 
cunning  wren,  "  I'll  make  friends  with  the  hen,  and  perhaps  she 
will  ask  me  to  stay;  and  then  upon  bread  every  day  I'll  be  fed,  and 
life  will  be  nothing  but  play."  So  down  flew  the  wren;  "  Stop  to 
tea,"  said  the  hen,  and  soon  her  good  supper  was  sent;  but  scarce 
stopping  to  taste,  the  poor  bird  left  in  haste,  and  this  was  the  reason 
she  went:  when  the  farmer's  kind  dame  to  the  poultry  yard  came, 
she  said  —  and  the  wren  shook  with  fright  —  "  that  fat  hen  will  do 
for  a  pie  or  a  stew,  and  I  think  I  shall  kill  her  to-night." 

162.  In  the  "  Relief  of  Lucknow  "  what  are  the  chief 
points  of  view,  contrasts,  characters,  and  changes  in 
feeling?  How  do  you  realize,  and  express  all  these  and 
bring  them  into  harmony? 

THE   RELIEF   OF  LUCKNOW 

O  that  last  day  in  Lucknow  fort! 

We  knew  that  it  was  the  last ; 
That  the  enemy's  mines  had  crept  slowly  in, 

And  the  end  was  coming  fast. 

To  yield  to  that  foe  meant  worse  than  death; 

And  the  men  and  we  all  work'd  on: 
It  was  one  day  more  of  smoke  and  roar,  — 

And  then  it  would  all  be  done. 

There  was  one  of  us,  a  corporal's  wife, 

A  fair  young  gentle  thing, 
Wasted  with  fever  in  the  siege,  — 

And  her  mind  was  wandering. 

She  lay  on  the  ground  in  her  Scottish  plaid, 

And  I  took  her  head  on  my  knee; 
"  When  my  father  comes  hame  frae  the  pleugh,"  she  said,  — 

"  O  please  then  waken  me!  " 

She  slept  like  a  child  on  her  father's  floor 

In  the  flecking  of  woodbine-shade, 
When  the  house-dog  sprawls  by  the  open  door, 

And  the  mother's  wheel  is  stay'd. 

The  difference  between  dramatic  personation  and  what  might  be  called 
sympathetic  participation  is  very  important  in  poems  such  as  this  by  Robert 
Lowell. 

Participation  is  of  as  great  or  greater  importance  than  personation.     Per- 


138  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

It  was  smoke  and  roar,  and  powder  stench, 

And  hopeless  waiting  for  death; 
But  the  soldier's  wife,  like  a  full-tired  child, 

Seem'd  scarce  to  draw  her  breath. 

I  sank  to  sleep,  and  I  had  my  dream 

Of  an  English  village  lane, 
And  wall  and  garden;  —  a  sudden  scream 

Brought  me  back  to  the  roar  again. 

There  Jessie  Brown  stood  listening; 

And  then  a  broad  gladness  broke 
All  over  her  face,  and  she  took  my  hand 

And  drew  me  near  and  spoke. 

"  The  Highlanders!     O  dinna  ye  hear 

The  slogan  far  awa',  — 
The  McGregors'?     Ah!     I  ken  it  weel: 

It's  the  grandest  o'  them  a*. 

"  God  bless  thae  bonnie  Highlanders! 

We're  saved!  we're  saved!  "  she  cried; 
And  fell  on  her  knees;  and  thanks  to  God 

Pour'd  forth,  like  a  full  flood-tide. 

Along  the  battery-line  her  cry 

Had  fallen  among  the  men, 
And  they  started,  for  they  were  there  to  die: 

Was  life  so  near  them  then? 

They  listen 'd,  for  life;  and  the  rattling  fire 

Far-off  and  the  far-off  roar 
Were  all;  —  and  the  colonel  shook  his  head, 

And  they  turn'd  to  their  guns  once  more. 

Then  Jessie  said  —  "  That  slogan's  done; 

But  can  ye  no  hear  them  noo,  — 
'  The  Campbells  are  comin'  ?  '     It's  no  a  dream; 

Our  succours  hae  broken  through!  " 

We  heard  the  roar  and  the  rattle  afar, 

But  the  pipes  we  could  not  hear; 
So  the  men  plied  their  work  of  hopeless  war, 

And  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 

It  was  not  long  ere  it  must  be  heard,  — 

A  shrilling  ceaseless  sound; 
It  was  no  noise  of  the  strife  afar, 

Or  the  sappers  underground. 

sonation  is  on  a  lower  plane,  of  mere  contrast  and  excitement;  but  participa- 
tion gives  a  suggestion  of  more  universal  and  important  considerations.  Per- 
sonation is  dramatic,  and  participation  more  epic. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  139 

It  was  the  pipes  of  the  Highlanders! 

And  now  they  play'd  "  Auld  Lang  Syne:  " 
It  came  to  our  men  like  the  voice  of  God; 

And  they  shouted  along  the  line. 

And  they  wept,  and  shook  one  another's  hands, 

And  the  women  sobb'd  in  a  crowd; 
And  every  one  kneel'd  down  where  we  stood, 

And  we  all  thank'd  God  aloud. 

That  happy  day,  when  we  welcomed  them, 

Our  men  put  Jessie  first; 
And  the  General  took  her  hand,  and  cheers 

From  the  men,  like  a  volley,  burst. 

And  the  pipers'  ribbons  and  tartan  stream'd, 

Marching  round  and  round  our  line; 
And  our  joyful  cheers  were  broken  with  tears, 

And  the  pipes  play'd  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Robert  Trail  Spence  Lowell. 

YUSSOUF 

A  stranger  came  one  night  to  Yussouf 's  tent, 

Saying,  "  Behold  one  outcast  and  in  dread, 

Against  whose  life  the  bow  of  power  is  bent, 

Who  flies,  and  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head; 

I  come  to  thee  for  shelter  and  for  food, 

To  Yussouf,  called  through  all  our  tribes,  '  The  Good.'  " 

"  This  tent  is  mine,"  said  Yussouf,  "  but  no  more 

Than  it  is  God's;  come  in,  and  be  at  peace; 

Freely  shalt  thou  partake  of  all  my  store 

As  I  of  His  who  buildeth  over  these 

Our  tents  his  glorious  roof  of  night  and  day, 

And  at  whose  door  none  ever  yet  heard  Nay." 

So  Yussouf  entertained  his  guest  that  night, 
And,  waking  him  ere  day,  said:   "  Here  is  gold; 
My  swiftest  horse  is  saddled  for  thy  flight; 
Depart  before  the  prying  day  grow  bold." 
As  one  lamp  lights  another,  nor  grows  less, 
So  nobleness  enkindleth  nobleness. 

That  inward  light  the  stranger's  face  made  grand, 
Which  shines  from  all  self-conquest;  kneeling  low, 
He  bowed  his  forehead  upon  Yussouf's  hand, 
Sobbing:    "  O  Sheik,  I  cannot  leave  thee  so; 
I  will  repay  thee;   all  this  thou  hast  done 
Unto  that  Ibrahim  who  slew  thy  son}  " 


140  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Take  thrice  the  gold,"  said  Yussouf,  "  for  with  thee 

Into  the  desert,  never  to  return, 

My  one  black  thought  shall  ride  away  from  me; 

First-born,  for  whom  by  day  and  night  I  yearn, 

Balanced  and  just  are  all  of  God's  decrees; 

Thou  art  avenged,  my  first-born,  sleep  in  peace!  " 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


VII 
APPLICATIONS 

XXXIX.    THE    AWAKENING    OF    POETIC    INSTINCT 

'Tis  not  the  greatest  singer, 

Who  tries  the  loftiest  themes, 
He  is  the  true  joy  bringer, 

Who  tells  his  simplest  dreams. 
He  is  the  greatest  poet, 

Who  will  renounce  all  art, 
And  take  his  heart  and  show  it 

To  every  other  heart; 
Who  writes  no  learned  riddle. 

But  sings  his  simplest  rune, 
Takes  his  heart-strings  for  a  fiddle, 

And  plays  his  easiest  tune. 
From  "  Back  Country  Poems."  Sam  Walter  Foss. 

163.  What  effect  have  the  previous  lessons  had  upon 
you?  Do  you  observe  more  carefully?  Do  you  see 
beauty  in  colors  and  forms  or  appreciate  beautiful 
sounds  more  deeply?  Do  you  realize  more  quickly  the 
meaning  of  fables  and  stories?  Do  you  enjoy  pictures, 
good  reading,  and  singing?  Have  you  been  inspired  not 
only  to  see  and  hear,  but  to  do  things  yourself? 

Can  you  read,  recite  or  tell  a  story  better  than  before? 
Can  you  draw  the  outlines  of  birds  and  leaves  and  ani- 
mals or  other  beautiful  things?  Can  you  write  a  letter, 
a  fable,  a  story,  or  verses  yourself? 

The  aim  of  this  book  is  not  merely  to  teach  the  student  to  use  the  voice 
better,  to  read  better,  to  recite,  and  to  have  command  of  vocal  expression, 
though  these  are  important. 

The  right  study  of  vocal  expression  necessarily  implies  artistic  training, 
clearer  th'"*""g,  deeper  feeling,  more  accurate  and  careful  observation.  It 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  141 

The  only  true  conquests  —  those  which  awaken  no  regrets  —  are 
those  obtained  over  our  ignorance. 

Napoleon. 

164.  How  many  Mother  Goose  rhymes  can  you  re- 
peat with  the  simple  unity  of  thinking,  feeling,  action, 
and  tone,  that  you  had  when  you  were  a  child? 

SING  A   SONG   OF   SIXPENCE 

Sing  a  song  of  sixpence, 

A  pocket  full  of  rye; 
Four  and  twenty  blackbirds 

Baked  in  a  pie; 

When  the  pie  was  opened, 

The  birds  began  to  sing; 
Was  not  that  a  dainty  dish 

To  set  before  the  king? 

The  king  was  in  the  parlor, 

Counting  out  his  money; 
The  queen  was  in  the  kitchen, 

Eating  bread  and  honey; 

The  maid  was  in  the  garden, 

Hanging  out  the  clothes; 
There  came  a  little  blackbird, 

And  snipped  off  her  nose. 

165.  Give  "  Clip,  Clap"  and  imagine  that  Mr.  Wiry- 
legs  is  not  stiff,  but  very  flexible  and  can  use  his  body 
and  limbs  freely.   Since  the  first  law  of  action  is  rhythm, 
can  you  give  these  verses  joyously  and  unite  all   the 

especially  implies  the  truer  appreciation  of  poetry  and  literature.  The  dis- 
covery of  the  union  of  thinking  and  feeling  with  the  natural  languages  of  the 
voice  and  body  awakens  those  fundamental  instincts  upon  which  all  artistic 
growth  depends.  Children  who  write  a  little  couplet  or  simple  poem,  however 
crude,  should  be  encouraged,  because  "  to  know  a  thing  we  must  do  it." 

Literature  is  the  interpretation  of  life;  the  embodiment  of  man  s  higher 
ideals  and  aspirations.  Literature  and  poetry,  however,  imply  voice;  and  the 
mere  study  of  written  words  alone  can  never  give  a  true  appreciation  of  poetry 
and  literature. 

On  the  other  hand,  no  amount  of  work  in  voice  and  vocal  expression,  with- 
out the  direct  study  of  poetry  and  literature,  can  ever  awaken  the  artistic 
nature.  Such  degradation  of  vocal  expression  into  elocution  or  a  mere  mechan- 
ical, artificial  analysis  with  obedience  to  certain  external  rules,  does  more  than 
anything  else  to  pervert  the  very  fountain-head  of  true  imaginative,  emotional, 
and  artistic  appreciation  and  creative  energy. 


142  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

actions  and  the  words  in  the  rhythm  of  your  thinking 
and  feeling? 

MR.  WIRY-LEGS 

My  name  is  Mr.  Wiry-legs, 

I  came  from  Dolly-land, 

I'm  dressed  in  red  and  blue,  and  hold 

A  cymbal  in  each  hand. 

Clip,  clap,  clippetty,  clap, 

Clip,  clap,  clat. 

Oh,  I  am  Mr.  Wiry-legs,  and  wear  a  soldier's  hat. 

I  have  a  long  and  crooked  nose, 

I  nod  my  head  and  grin, 

And  every  time  I  go  bob,  bob, 

Oh,  then  I  do  begin 

To  clip,  clap,  clippetty,  clap, 

Clip,  clap,  clat. 

Oh,  I  am  Mr.  Wiry-legs,  and  wear  a  soldier's  hat. 

I  have  a  long  and  yellow  wig, 

All  neatly  curled  behind; 

My  hollow  chest  is  full  of  springs; 

My  legs  are  wire  you'll  find. 

Clip,  clap,  clippetty,  clap, 

Clip,  clap,  clat. 

Oh,  I  am  Mr.  Wiry-legs,  and  wear  a  soldier's  hat. 

I  nod  my  head  at  baby  Dan ; 

His  dimples  come  and  go, 

And  when  I  dance,  and  clap,  and  grin, 

Oh,  then  he'll  laugh  and  crow, 

At  clip,  clap,  clippetty,  clap, 

Clip,  clap,  clat. 

Oh,  I  am  Mr.  Wiry-legs,  and  wear  a  soldier's  hat. 

Nellie  M.  Garabrant. 

The  review  of  Mother  Goose  melodies  will  cause  merriment.  Their  practice 
may  be  united  with  lyrics  or  more  advanced  literature.  The  direct  object  of 
using  these  Mother  Goose  songs  must  be  to  secure  spontaneity  and  to  review 
the  first  steps,  such  as:  impression  must  precede  expression,  one  idea  at  a  time, 
and  the  various  exercises  for  response  of  body  and  voice  conditions.  The 
teacher  may  bring  out  folk-lore  meanings  and  the  spirit  of  myths  which  students 
have  never  thought  of,  such  as  the  interpretation  of  the  four-and -twenty  black- 
birds, which  are  the  four-and-twenty  hours  in  a  day.  The  opening  of  the  pie 
is  dawn.  The  King  is  the  sun;  his  money,  of  course,  is  the  sunshine.  The 
Queen  is  the  moon. 

Art  is  the  spirit  of  play  reduced  to  order.  The  art  of  reading  which  is 
closest  to  nature  must  especially  emphasize  play.  That  is  to  say,  there  must  be 
spontaneous  energy  in  thinking  and  feeling.  We  must,  speak,  read,  or  recite 
with  the  free  play  of  our  powers,  not  only  in  nonsensical  things,  where  it  will 
be  easy,  but  in  works  revealing  higher  truth  and  greater  seriousness. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  143 

166.  What  are  the  chief  elements  that  make  a  story 
interesting?  Can  you  suggest  the  definite  character  of 
each  event  as  you  tell  it,  or  each  object  as  you  describe 
it?  Can  you  give  such  a  movement  that  you  suggest 
everything  as  it  really  is  in  life? 

A  GOOD   THANKSGIVING 

Said  old  gentleman  Gay,  "  On  Thanksgiving  day, 
If  you  want  a  good  time,  then  give  something  away." 

So  he  sent  a  fat  turkey  to  Shoemaker  Price, 

And  the  shoemaker  said,  "  What  a  big  bird!     How  nice. 

"  With  such  a  good  dinner  before  me,  I  ought 
To  give  Widow  Lee  the  small  chicken  I  bought." 

"  This  fine  chicken,  oh,  see!  "  said  the  pleased  Widow  Lee, 
"  And  the  kindness  that  sent  it,  how  precious  to  me. 

"  I  would  like  to  make  some  one  as  happy  as  I  — 
I'll  give  Washerwoman  Biddy  my  big  pumpkin  pie." 

"  And  oh  sure!  "  Biddy  said,  "  't's  the  queen  of  all  pies! 
And  to  look  at  its  yellow  face  gladdens  my  eyes. 

"  Now  it's  my  turn,  I  think;  and  a  sweet  ginger  cake 
For  the  motherless  Finigan  children  I'll  bake." 

Said  the  Finigan  children  —  Rose,  Denny  and  Hugh  — 

"  It  smells  sweet  of  spice,  and  we'll  carry  a  slice 

To  poor  little  lame  Jake,  who  has  nothing  that's  nice." 

"  Oh  I  thank  you,  and  thank  you,"  said  little  lame  Jake. 
"  What  a  beautiful,  beautiful,  beautiful  cake! 

"  And  such  a  big  slice!     I  will  save  all  the  crumbs, 
And  give  them  to  each  little  sparrow  that  comes." 

And  the  sparrows  they  twittered,  as  if  they  would  say, 
Like  old  gentleman  Gay,  "  On  Thanksgiving  day, 
If  you  want  a  good  time,  then  give  something  away." 

Marian  Douglas. 

All  stories  must  move.  The  life  of  a  story  depends  upon  the  definite  char- 
acter of  each  situation  or  idea,  upon  the  variation  of  movement,  by  changes  of 
pitch  and  inflection  and  other  modulations.  We  must  give  special  prominence 
to  the  successive  centers  of  interest. 

The  teacher  will  observe  the  necessity  of  reviewing  a  great  many  points 
and  using  these  extracts  as  illustrations.  These  two  stories,  for  instance,  fur- 
nish good  examples  for  analysis  of  emphasis.  "  A  Good  Thanksgiving  "  is  almost 
a  cumulative  story.  It  serves  as  a  good  illustration  of  the  relative  value  of 
ideas. 

The  reason  why  stories  are  often  tame  and  uninteresting  is  due  to  the  lack 
of  movement  of  events,  and  also  to  the  failure  to  make  the  real  points  prominent. 


144  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

167.  In  telling  a  story  in  your  own  words,  can  you 
bring  out  its  point  or  points  forcibly? 

A  company  of  soldiers  were  drilling.  An  awkard  country  boy 
got  out  of  his  cart  to  watch  them,  and  when  the  band  began  to  play, 
held  his  donkey  tightly  by  the  head.  The  "  wit  "  of  the  soldiers 
called  out, 

"  Why  are  you  holding  your  brother  so  tightly,  Bud?  " 
The  reply  was  unexpected:   "  I'm  afraid  he  might  enlist." 

XL.   POETRY  AND  ITS  FORMS 

POETRY 

She  comes  like  the  hush  and  beauty  of  the  night, 

And  sees  too  deep  for  laughter; 
Her  touch  is  a  vibration  and  a  light 

From  worlds  before  and  after. 

Edwin  Marltham. 

To  me  it  seems  as  if  when  God  conceived  the  world,  that  was 
poetry;  He  formed  it,  and  that  was  sculpture;  He  varied  and 
colored  it,  and  that  was  painting;  and  then,  crowning  all,  He  peopled 
it  with  living  beings,  and  that  was  the  grand,  divine,  eternal  drama. 

Charlotte  Cushman. 

168.  What  are  some  of  the  differences  between  these 
passages? 

TWILIGHT  AT   SEA 

The  twilight  hours  like  birds  flew  by, 

As  lightly  and  as  free; 
Ten  thousand  stars  were  in  the  sky, 

Ten  thousand  on  the  sea; 
For  every  wave  with  dimpled  face, 

That  leaped  upon  the  air, 
Had  caught  a  star  in  its  embrace, 

And  held  it  trembling  there. 

Amelia  Coppuck  Welby. 

Four  things  come  not  back:  the  spoken  word;  the  sped  arrow; 
time  past;  the  neglected  opportunity 

Omar  Ibn,  Al  Halif. 

If  you  lay  your  head  down  in  the  meadow  by  the  river  on  the 
long  grass,  there  will  come  to  you  in  the  whispering  wind  something 
like  the  sea-murmurs  that  live  within  the  shell  —  tidings  of  a  delicate 
life,  news  of  a  world  beyond  the  thought  of  those  who  merely  haunt 
the  palaces  of  earth. 

J.  H.  Shorthouse. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  145 

169.  When  a  passage  makes  an  abstract  truth,  or  one 
vaguely  realized,  clear,  definite,  and  forcible,  how  does 
your  voice  interpret  such  illustrative  language? 

The  battle  is  not  to  the  strong, 

The  race  not  always  to  the  fleet, 
And  he  who  seeks  to  pluck  the  stars, 

May  lose  the  jewels  at  his  feet. 

Phoebe  Gary. 

Of  course  I  know  that  it  is  better  to  build  a  cathedral  than  to 
make  a  boot;  but  I  think  it  actually  better  to  make  a  boot  than  only 
to  dream  about  making  a  cathedral. 

Ellen  Thornycroft  Fowler. 

Follow  Light,  and  do  the  Right  —  for  man  can  half-control  his  doom, 
Till  you  find  the  deathless  angel  seated  in  the  vacant  tomb. 

The  battle  of  life  extends  over  a  vast  area,  and  it  is  vain  for  us 
to  inquire  about  the  other  wings  of  the  army;  it  is  enough  that  we 
have  received  our  orders,  and  that  we  have  held  the  few  feet  of 
ground  committed  to  our  charge. 

Ian  Maclaren. 

170.  Render  the  following,  first  as  a  literal  story  of 
human  life,   then  feeling  and  realizing  the  allegorical 
significance  of  the  different  parts  as  applicable  to  the 
aging  of  the  human  body. 

THE  EFFECTS  OF  AGE 

Remember  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth,  before  the 
evil  days  come  and  the  years  draw  nigh  of  which  thou  shalt  say, 
I  have  no  pleasure  in  them;  before  the  sun  and  the  light  and  the 
moon  and  the  stars  are  darkened,  and  the  clouds  return  after  the 
rain;  in  the  day  when  the  keepers  of  the  house  shall  tremble,  and 
the  strong  men  shall  bow  themselves,  and  the  grinders  shall  cease 
because  they  are  few,  and  those  that  look  out  of  the  windows  shall 
be  darkened,  and  the  doors  shall  be  shut  in  the  streets;  when  the 
sound  of  the  grinding  is  low,  and  they  shall  rise  up  at  the  voice  of 
the  bird,  and  all  the  daughters  of  song  shall  be  brought  low;  also 
they  shall  be  afraid  of  what  is  high,  and  terrors  shall  be  in  the  way; 
and  the  almond-tree  shall  flourish,  and  the  grasshopper  shall  be  a 

The  meaning  of  this  passage  is  regarded  as  allegorical  —  "  the  keepers  of 
the  house,"  the  hands;  "  strong  men,"  the  legs;  "  grinders,"  the  teeth;  "  those 
that  look  out  of  the  windows,"  the  eyes;  "  doors  that  shall  be  shut  in  the 
street,"  the  ears;  "  grinding,"  mastication;  "  daughters  of  song,"  the  voice; 
"  almond-tree,"  white  head  and  beard;  "  silver  chord  be  loosed,"  the  nervous 
system;  "  golden  bowl,"  the  skull;  "  pitcher,"  the  heart  (?);  "  wheel,"  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood  (?);  "  desire  "  may  be  rendered  "  appetite." 


146  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

burden,  and  the  desire  shall  fail;  because  man  goeth  to  his  home, 
and  the  mourners  go  about  the  streets;  before  the  silver  cord  be 
loosed,  and  the  golden  bowl  be  broken,  and  the  pitcher  be  broken 
at  the  fountain,  and  the  wheel  broken  at  the  well.  And  the  dust  shall 
return  to  the  earth,  as  it  was;  and  the  spirit  shall  return  unto  God 
who  gave  it.  Eccl.  xii :  1-7. 

171.  Why  are  these  speeches  more  interesting  when 
given  with  a  suggestion  of  the  two  characters? 

Miss  Minny  Somers  —  By  the  by,  you  are  not  the  boy  I  have 
always  had  before? 

Caddie  —  No'm ;  you  see,  we  tossed  to  see  who'd  caddie  for  you. 
Miss  M.  S.  (pleased)  —  O,  tut,  tut,  you  bad  boys  —  and  you  won? 
C.  —  No,  I  lost!  The  Tatler. 

172.  Render  some  phrase  in  a  story,  such  as  "  The 
clouds  are  heavy,"  in  many  ways,  merely  stating  a  fact, 
expressing  indifference,  pleasure  that  it  is  going  to  rain; 
curiosity,  surprise,  disappointment  that  you  cannot  go  on 
a  boat  ride;  then  suggest  the  spirit  and  character  that 
it  has  in  the  poem  on  page  126.     Note  similar  phrases 
in  various  poems  and  interpret  their  true  character. 

173.  Which  of  these  passages  is  more  dramatic  and 
which  more  lyric  and  why? 

SENSUALIST 

"  Live  while  we  live!  "  he  cried;  but  did  not  guess, 
Fooled  by  the  phantom,  Pleasure,  how  much  less 
Enjoyment  runs  in  rivers  of  excess 
Than  overbrims  divine  abstemiousness. 
Prom  "  Quatrains  and  Epigrams."  John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 

THE   SLEIGHING   SONG 
Away!  away!  the  track  is  white, 
The  stars  are  shining  clear  to-night, 

The  winter  winds  are  sleeping; 
The  moon  above  the  steeple  tall, 
A  silver  crescent,  over  all 

Her  silent  watch  is  keeping. 
Away!  away!  our  hearts  are  gay, 
And  need  not  breathe,  by  night  or  day, 

A  sigh  for  summer  pleasure; 
The  merry  bells  ring  gayly  out, 
Our  lips  keep  time  with  song  and  shout, 

And  laugh  in  happy  measure.  Not  known. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  147 

174.  Which  line  in  the  following  is  more  dramatic, 
and  which  more  epic,  which  more  important,  and  why? 

"  O  father!  I  see  a  gleaming  light,  O  say,  what  may  it  be?  " 
But  the  father  answer'd  never  a  word,  a  frozen  corpse  was  he. 
"  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus."  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

175.  How  would  the  feelings  and  character  be  changed 
if  you  should  change  "  I"  to  "  he,"  "  my"  to    "  his," 
"our"  to  "the"  in  the  following? 

When,  climbing  the  wet  trees,  next  morning-sun 
Laugh'd  at  the  ruin  that  the  night  had  done, 
Bleeding  and  drench'd,  by  toil  and  sorrow  bent, 
Back  to  what  used  to  be  my  home  I  went. 
But,  as  I  near'd  our  little  clearing-ground,  — 
Listen !  —  I  heard  the  cow-bell's  tinkling  sound. 
The  cabin  door  was  just  a  bit  ajar; 
It  gleam 'd  upon  my  glad  eyes  like  a  star. 
"  Brave  heart,"  I  said,  "  for  such  a  fragile  form! 
She  made  them  guide  her  homeward  through  the  storm!  " 
Such  pangs  of  joy  I  never  felt  before. 
"  You've  come!  "  I  shouted,  and  rush'd  through  the  door. 

Yes,  she  had  come,  —  and  gone  again.     She  lay 
With  all  her  young  life  crush 'd  and  wrench'd  away,  — 
Lay,  the  heart-ruins  of  our  home  among, 
Not  far  from  where  I  kill'd  her  with  my  tongue. 
From  "  The  Settler's  Story."  Will  Carleton. 

176.  Which  parts  of  the  following  contain  more  nar- 
rative elements,  which  more  lyric,  which  more  dramatic, 
which  more  epic?     Why?     Can  you  define  and  illus- 
trate these  terms  from  other  passages  and  show  their 
peculiar  spirit  by  your  voice? 

WILD-FLOWER 

A  brown  hay-maiden  loved  a  lad; 

She  was  a  wild-flower  of  the  hay. 
Poor  child !  her  heart  was  all  she  had, 

But  all  her  heart  she  gave  away. 
In  vain,  until  her  lover's  sire 

Said  thus:   "  Go,  mow  my  field  for  me! 
If  in  three  days  'tis  done,  your  hire 

That  day  your  lover's  hand  shall  be!  " 
A  simple  story  I  unfold; 

A  loving  heart  is  all  my  lay. 


148  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

I  tell  it  as  I  heard  it  told 

By  haymakers  among  the  hay. 

Fond  maid!  she  listened  all  elate, 
And  like  of  happy  love  to  die. 
Her  scythe  she  seized,  no  time  to  wait, 
For  day  and  night  flew  swiftly  by. 
When  fainting  limbs  no  more  could  bear, 

She  drew  fresh  strength  from  Heaven  above; 
New  heart  was  lent  her  by  her  prayer, 

Her  prayer  was  taught  her  by  her  love. 
A  simple  story  I  unfold; 

A  loving  heart  is  all  my  lay. 
I  tell  it  as  I  heard  it  told 

By  haymakers  among  the  hay. 

One  moment  in  her  work  she  stayed  — 

A  daisy  caught  her  pitying  eye; 
"  You  too,  poor  simple  flower.  "  she  said, 

"  To  win  my  happiness  must  die!  " 
But  as  it  drooped,  its  dying  leaves 

Such  tender  sorrow  seemed  to  tell, 
The  maid,  herself  a  wild-flower,  grieves 
As  'twere  a  sister  flower  that  fell. 
A  simple  story  I  unfold; 

A  loving  heart  is  all  my  lay. 
I  tell  it  as  I  heard  it  told 

By  haymakers  among  the  hay. 

The  third  day  passed,  and  without  fail 

The  rich  man  to  the  meadow  came. 
Breathless  she  stood,  and  very  pale, 

But  joy  was  in  her  eyes  like  flame. 
"  I  did  but  jest,  my  girl!  but  here, 

Ten  crowns  will  pay  your  toil!  "  he  said. 
And  one  more  flower,  when  night  drew  near, 
Beside  her  scythe  lay  crushed  and  dead. 
Such  is  the  sad  and  simple  lay 

The  labourers  told  me  as  I  passed. 
The  girls  still  sing  it  in  the  hay, 

And  as  they  sing  the  tears  run  fast. 
Translated  from  "  Lemoine."  F.  W.  Bourdillon. 

177.  What  is  the  difference  in  the  way  you  tell  these 
two  stories?  What  is  the  difference  in  your  attitude 
to  the  characters?  Do  they  think,  feel,  and  speak 
alike?  How  do  the  descriptive  parts  differ  in  expres- 
sion from  the  quotations? 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  149 

THE  GRAY  SWAN 

"  Oh!  tell  me,  sailor,  tell  me  true, 
Is  my  little  lad,  my  Elihu, 

A-sailing  with  your  ship?  " 
The  sailor's  eyes  were  dim  with  dew, 
"  Your  little  lad,  your  Elihu?  " 
He  said  with  trembling  lip,  —  "  What  little  lad?     What  ship?  " 

"  What  little  lad?  as  if  there  could  be 

Another  such  a  one  as  he! 

What  little  lad,  do  you  say? 
Why,  Elihu,  that  took  to  the  sea 
The  moment  I  put  him  off  my  knee! 
It  was  just  the  other  day  the  Gray  Swan  sailed  away!  " 

"  The  other  day?  "     The  sailor's  eyes 
Stood  open  with  a  great  surprise :  — 
"  The  other  day?  —  the  Swan?  " 
His  heart  began  in  his  throat  to  rise. 
"  Ay,  ay,  sir!  here  in  the  cupboard  lies 
The  jacket  he  had  on!  "  —  "  And  so  your  lad  is  gone?  " 

"  Gone  with  the  Swan.  "  —  "  And  did  she  stand 
With  her  anchor  clutching  hold  of  the  sand, 

For  a  month,  and  never  stir?" 
"  Why,  to  be  sure!     I've  seen  from  the  land, 
Like  a  lover  kissing  his  lady's  hand, 
The  wild  sea  kissing  her,  a  sight  to  remember,  sir!  " 

"  But,  my  good  mother,  do  you  know 
All  this  was  twenty  years  ago? 

I  stood  on  the  Gray  Swan's  deck, 
And  to  that  lad  I  saw  you  throw, 
Taking  it  off,  as  it  might  be,  so! 
The  kerchief  from  your  neck.  "  —  "  Ay,  and  he'll  bring  it  back!  " 

"  And  did  the  little  lawless  lad, 

That  has  made  you  sick  and  made  you  sad, 

Sail  with  the  Gray  Swan's  crew?  " 
"  Lawless!     The  man  is  going  mad! 
The  best  boy  ever  mother  had:  — 
Be  sure  he  sailed  with  the  crew!  What  would  you  have  him  do?  " 

"  And  he  has  never  written  line, 

Nor  sent  you  word,  nor  made  you  sign, 

To  say  he  was  alive?  " 
"  Hold!  if  'twas  wrong,  the  wrong  is  mine; 
Besides,  he  may  be  in  the  brine; 
And  could  he  write  from  the  grave?  Tut,  man !  what  would  you  have?" 


150  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Gone,  twenty  years,  —  a  long,  long  cruise, 
'Twas  wicked  thus  your  love  to  abuse! 

But  if  the  lad  still  live, 
And  come  back  home,  think  you,  you  can 
Forgive  him?  "  —  "  Miserable  man! 

You're  mad  as  the  sea,  you  rave  —  What  have  I  to  forgive?  " 
The  sailor  twiched  his  shirt  so  blue, 
And  from  within  his  bosom  drew 
The  kerchief.     She  was  wild. 
"  Oh  God,  my  Father!  is  it  true? 
My  little  lad,  my  Elihu! 
My  blessed  boy,  my  child!  My  dead,  my  living  child!  " 

Alice  Gary. 

LINCOLN'S   HEART 

"  You  are  wounded,  my  boy,  and  the  field  is  your  tent, 

And  what  can  I  do  at  the  last  for  you?  " 
"  Yes,  wounded  I  am,  and  my  strength  is  spent. 

Will  you  write  me  a  letter  and  see  me  through?  " 
And  the  tall  man  ruffled  some  papers  there 

To  write  a  letter  in  sun-dimmed  air. 
"  What  now  shall  I  sigA  it?  "     "  'Twill  give  her  joy, 

Whatever  your  name,  my  friend,  may  be, 
If  you  sign  it  just  '  from  the  heart  of  your  boy,' 

And  put  your  name  there,  so  she  may  see 
Who  wrote  so  kindly  this  letter  for  me.  " 

"  A.  Lincoln  "  was  written  there,  tremblingly. 
The  bleeding  lad,  from  the  hand  unknown 

The  letter  took.     "What?     'A.Lincoln!'     Not  he? 
Will  you  take  my  hand  —  I'm  all  alone  — 

And  see  me  through,  since  he  you  be?  " 
And  the  Heart  of  the  Nation  in  that  retreat 

Held  the  little  pulse  till  it  ceased  to  beat. 
The  sun  through  the  trees  like  an  oriel  shone, 

Like  a  gate  of  heaven  reflected  there, 
And  a  bird's  heart  song  and  a  ringdove's  moan 

Fell  on  the  tides  of  the  amber  air! 
Both  closed  their  eyes:  both  hearts  in  prayer 

Went  up  the  steps  of  the  silent  stair. 

And  he,  the  boy,  still  holding  the  hand 

Of  the  heart  he  loved,  no  more  returned; 
But  far  in  the  south  an  iris  spanned 

The  singing  forests  where  sun  rifts  burned. 
And  the  Commoner  closed  in  the  amber  air 

Two  eyes  and  crossed  two  hands  as  in  prayer. 
And  our  Lincoln  learned  life's  lesson  there. 

Hezekiah  Butterworth. 


LITTLE  CLASSICS 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem, 

Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay, 
That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 

And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day.  .  .  . 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 

Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start; 

Who  through  long  days  of  labor, 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies.  .  .  . 

Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares,  that  infest  the  day, 
Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 

And  as  silently  steal  away. 
From  "The  Day  is  Done."  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  1807-1882. 

THE  LARK  AND  HIS  SPURS 

A  fine  young  Lark  sat  in  the  long  grass,  looking  the 
picture  of  misery. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  cousin?  "  asked  a 
Fairy.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy,"  replied  the  poor  Lark; 
"  I  want  to  build  a  nest,  and  I  have  got  no  wife." 

"  Why  don't  you  look  for  a  wife,  then?  "  said  the 
Fairy  laughing  at  him.  "  Do  you  expect  one  to  come 
and  look  for  you?  Fly  up,  and  sing  a  beautiful  song  in 
the  sky,  and  then  perhaps  some  pretty  hen  will  hear 
you;  and  perhaps,  if  you  tell  her  that  you  will  help  her 
to  build  a  capital  nest,  and  that  you  will  sing  to  her  all 
day  long,  she  will  consent  to  be  your  wife." 

151 


152  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Oh,  I  don't  like  to  fly  up,  I  am  so  ugly.  If  I  were 
a  goldfinch,  and  had  yellow  bars  on  my  wings,  or  a 
robin,  and  had  red  feathers  on  my  breast,  I  should  not 
mind  the  defect  which  now  I  am  afraid  to  show.  But 
I  am  only  a  poor  brown  Lark,  and  I  know  I  shall  never 
get  a  wife." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  an  unreasonable  bird,"  said 
the  Fairy.  "  You  cannot  expect  to  have  everything." 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know,"  proceeded  the  Lark, 
"  that  if  I  fly  up  my  feet  will  be  seen;  and  no  other 
bird  has  feet  like  mine.  My  claws  are  enough  to  frighten 
any  one,  they  are  so  long;  and  yet  I  assure  you,  Fairy, 
I  am  not  a  cruel  bird." 

"  Let  me  look  at  your  claws,"  said  the  Fairy. 

So  the  Lark  lifted  up  one  of  his  feet,  which  he  had 
kept  hidden  in  the  long  grass,  lest  any  one  should 
see  it. 

"  It  looks  certainly  very  fierce,"  said  the  Fairy. 
"  Your  hind  claw  is  at  least  an  inch  long,  and  all  your 
toes  have  very  dangerous-looking  points.  Are  you  sure 
you  never  use  them  to  fight  with?  " 

"  No,  never!  "  said  the  Lark  earnestly;  "  I  never 
fought  a  battle  in  my  life;  but  yet  these  claws  grow 
longer  and  longer,  and  I  am  so  ashamed  of  their  being 
seen,  that  I  very  often  lie  in  the  grass  instead  of  going 
up  to  sing,  as  I  could  wish." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  observed  the  Fairy;  "  but 
nothing  is  given  us  to  be  of  no  use.  You  would  not 
have  wings  unless  you  were  to  fly,  nor  a  voice  unless 
you  were  to  sing;  and  so  you  would  not  have  those 
dreadful  spurs  unless  you  were  going  to  fight.  If  your 
spurs  are  not  to  fight  with,"  continued  the  Fairy,  "  I 
should  like  to  know  what  they  are  for." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Lark,  lifting  up 
his  foot  and  looking  at  it.  "  Then  you  are  not  inclined 
to  help  me  at  all,  Fairy?  I  thought  you  might  be  will- 
ing to  mention  among  my  friends  that  I  am  not  a  quar- 
relsome bird,  and  that  I  should  always  take  care  not  to 
hurt  my  wife  and  nestlings  with  my  spurs." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  153 

"  Appearances  are  very  much  against  you,"  answered 
the  Fairy;  "  and  it  is  quite  plain  to  me  that  those  spurs 
are  meant  to  scratch  with.  No,  I  cannot  help  you. 
Good  morning." 

So  the  Fairy  withdrew  to  an  oak  bough,  and  the  poor 
Lark  sat  moping  in  the  grass  while  the  Fairy  watched 
him.  While  she  was  watching,  the  Grasshopper  came 
chirping  up  to  the  Lark,  and  tried  to  comfort  him. 

"  I  have  heard  all  that  the  Fairy  said  to  you,"  she 
observed,  "  and  I  really  do  not  see  that  it  need  make 
you  unhappy.  I  have  known  you  some  time,  and  have 
never  seen  you  fight  or  look  out  of  temper;  therefore  I 
will  spread  a  report  that  you  are  a  very  good-tempered 
bird,  and  that  you  are  looking  out  for  a  wife." 

The  Lark  upon  this  thanked  the  Grasshopper  warmly. 

"  At  the  same  time,"  remarked  the  Grasshopper,  "  I 
should  be  glad  if  you  could  tell  me  what  is  the  use  of 
those  claws,  because  the  question  might  be  asked  me, 
and  I  should  not  know  what  to  answer." 

"  Grasshopper,"  replied  the  Lark,  "  I  cannot  imagine 
what  they  are  for  —  that  is  the  real  truth." 

"  Well,"  said  the  kind  Grasshopper,  "  perhaps  time 
will  show." 

So  he  went  away,  and  the  Lark,  delighted  with  his 
promise  to  speak  well  of  him,  flew  up  into  the  air,  and 
the  higher  he  went  the  sweeter  and  the  louder  he  sang. 
He  was  so  happy,  and  he  poured  forth  such  delightful 
notes,  so  clear  and  thrilling,  that  a  pretty  brown  Lark, 
who  had  been  sitting  under  some  great  foxglove  leaves, 
peeped  out  and  exclaimed,  "  I  never  heard  such  a  beauti- 
ful song  in  my  life  —  never!  " 

"  It  was  sung  by  my  friend,  the  Skylark,"  said  the 
Grasshopper  who  just  then  happened  to  be  on  a  leaf 
near  her.  "  He  is  a  very  good-tempered  bird,  and  he 
wants  a  wife." 

"  Well  done,  my  friend!  "  exclaimed  the  Grasshopper, 
when  at  length  he  came  down  panting,  and  with  tired 
wings;  and  then  the  Grasshopper  told  him  how  much 
his  friend  the  brown  Lark,  who  lived  by  the  foxglove, 


154  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

had  been  pleased  with  his  song,  and  he  took  the  poor 
Skylark  to  see  her. 

The  Skylark  walked  as  carefully  as  he  could,  that  she 
might  not  see  his  feet;  and  he  thought  he  had  never 
seen  such  a  pretty  bird  in  his  life.  But  when  she  told 
him  how  much  she  loved  music,  he  sprang  up  again  into 
the  blue  sky  as  if  he  was  not  at  all  tired,  and  sang  anew, 
clearer  and  sweeter  than  before.  He  was  so  glad  to 
think  that  he  could  please  her. 

The  consequence  was,  that  when  he  asked  her  to 
overlook  his  spurs  and  be  his  wife,  she  said  she  would 
see  about  it. 

"  I  do  not  mind  your  spurs  particularly,"  she  ob- 
served. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,"  said  the  Skylark.  "  I  was 
afraid  you  would  disapprove  of  them." 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied.  "  On  the  contrary,  now  I 
think  of  it,  I  should  not  have  liked  you  to  have  short 
claws  like  other  birds;  but  I  cannot  exactly  say  why,  as 
they  seem  to  be  of  no  use  in  particular." 

This  was  very  good  news  for  the  Skylark,  and  he 
sang  such  delightful  songs  in  consequence,  that  he  very 
soon  won  his  wife;  and  they  built  a  delightful  little  nest 
in  the  grass,  which  made  him  so  happy  that  he  almost 
forgot  to  be  sorry  about  his  long  spurs. 

One  day  the  Grasshopper  chanced  to  meet  the  Fairy. 

"  Suppose  you  come  and  see  the  eggs  that  our  pretty 
friend  the  Lark  has  in  her  nest,"  said  the  Grasshopper. 
"  Three  pink  eggs  spotted  with  brown.  I  am  sure  she 
will  show  you  them  with  pleasure." 

Off  they  set  together;  but  what  was  their  surprise  to 
find  the  poor  little  brown  Lark  sitting  on  them  with 
rumpled  feathers,  drooping  head,  and  trembling  limbs. 

"  Ah,  my  pretty  eggs!  "  said  the  Lark,  as  soon  as  she 
could  speak.  "  I  am  so  miserable  about  them  —  they 
must  be  trodden  on." 

"  What  is  the  matter? "  asked  the  Grasshopper. 
"  Perhaps  we  can  help  you." 

"  Dear  Grasshopper,"  said  the  Lark,  "  I  have  just 
heard  the  farmer  and  his  son  talking  on  the  other  side 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  155 

of  the  hedge,  and  the  farmer  said  to-morrow  morning 
he  should  begin  to  cut  this  meadow.  Oh,  my  pretty 
eggs!  —  my  heart  aches  for  them!  I  shall  never  hear 
my  little  nestlings  chirp." 

At  last  her  mate  dropped  down  from  the  white  cloud 
where  he  had  been  singing,  and  when  he  saw  her  droop- 
ing, and  the  Grasshopper  and  the  Fairy  sitting  silently 
before  her,  he  inquired  in  a  great  fright  what  the  matter 
was. 

So  they  told  him,  and  at  first  he  was  very  much 
shocked;  but  presently  he  lifted  first  one  and  then  the 
other  of  his  feet,  and  examined  his  long  spurs. 

"  If  I  had  only  laid  my  eggs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge,"  sighed  the  poor  mother,  "  among  the  corn, 
there  would  have  been  plenty  of  time  to  rear  my  birds 
before  harvest  time." 

"  My  dear,"  answered  her  mate, "  don't  be  unhappy." 
And  so  saying,  he  hopped  up  to  the  eggs,  and,  laying  one 
foot  upon  the  prettiest,  he  clasped  it  with  his  long  spurs. 
Strange  to  say,  it  exactly  fitted  them.  The  Lark  began 
slowly  and  carefully  to  hop  on  with  the  egg  in  his  right 
foot,  saying,  "  I  have  often  wondered  what  my  spurs 
could  be  for,  and  now  I  see."  He  hopped  gently  on  till 
he  came  to  the  hedge,  and  then  got  through  it,  still 
holding  the  egg,  till  he  found  a  nice  little  hollow  place 
in  among  the  corn,  and  there  he  laid  it,  and  came  back 
for  the  others. 

"  Hurrah!  "  cried  the  Grasshopper,  "  Larkspurs  for 
ever!  " 

The  Fairy  said  nothing.  She  sat  looking  on  till  the 
happy  Lark  had  carried  the  last  of  his  eggs  to  a  safe 
place,  and  had  called  his  mate  to  come  and  sit  on  them. 
Then,  when  he  sprang  up  into  the  sky  again,  exulting 
and  rejoicing,  and  singing  to  his  mate,  that  now  he  was 
quite  happy,  because  he  knew  what  his  long  spurs  were 
for,  the  Fairy  stole  gently  away,  saying  to  herself,  "  Well, 
I  could  not  have  believed  such  a  thing.  I  thought  he 
must  be  a  quarrelsome  bird  as  his  spurs  were  so  long; 
but  it  appears  that  I  was  wrong,  after  all." 

From  "Short  Stories  Told  to  a  Child."  Jean  Ingelow,  1820-1897. 


156  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

ETERNALLY     YOUNG 

A  little  sun,  a  little  rain, 

A  soft  wind  blowing  from  the  west  — 
And  woods  and  fields  are  sweet  again 

And  the  warmth  within  the  mountain's  breast. 

So  ample  is  the  earth  we  tread 

So  quick  with  love  and  life  her  frame 
Ten  thousand  years  have  dawned  and  fled 

And  still  her  magic  is  the  same. 

A  little  love,  a  little  trust, 

A  soft  impulse,  a  sudden  dream, 
And  life  as  dry  as  desert  dust 

Is  fresher  than  a  mountain  stream. 

So  simple  is  the  heart  of  man, 

So  ready  for  new  hope  and  joy, 
Ten  thousand  years  since  it  began 

Have  left  it  younger  than  a  boy. 

Stopford  A.  Brooke. 

A  GOOD  PRACTICAL  JOKE 

A  German  nobleman  provided  his  son  with  a  tutor, 
who  was  to  teach  him  and  to  attend  closely  to  him  at  all 
hours.  One  day  these  two  came  to  the  side  of  a  wood, 
and  there  found  a  tree  half  felled,  and  a  pair  of  wooden 
shoes.  The  woodman  was  cooling  his  hot  feet  in  a 
neighboring  stream.  The  young  nobleman  took  up  a 
couple  of  pebbles  and  said  to  his  tutor,  "  I'll  put  these 
in  that  old  fellow's  shoes,  and  we'll  see  his  grimaces." 

"  Hm!  "  said  the  tutor,  "  I  don't  think  you'll  get 
much  fun  out  of  that.  You  see  he's  a  poor  man,  and 
probably  thinks  his  lot  hard  enough  without  having 
stones  put  into  his  shoes.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  if 
you  were  to  put  a  little  money  in,  instead,  —  and  you 
have  plenty  of  that,  you  know,  more  than  I  should 
allow  you  if  I  were  your  father,  —  the  old  fellow  would 
be  far  more  astonished,  and  his  grimaces  would  be  far 
more  entertaining." 

The  generous  youth  caught  fire  at  the  idea,  and  put  a 
dollar  into  each  shoe.  Then  they  hid  behind  a  hedge, 
and  watched  the  result  of  their  trick.  They  had  not 
long  to  wait.  An  elderly  man  came  back  to  his  hard 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  157 

work,  —  work  a  little  beyond  his  years,  —  and  slipped 
his  right  foot  into  his  right  shoe. 

Feeling  something  hard  in  it,  he  took  it  off  again,  and 
discovered  a  bright  silver  dollar.  His  grave  face  wore 
a  look  of  amazement,  and  the  spies  behind  the  hedge 
chuckled.  He  laid  the  coin  in  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
still  gazing  at  it  with  wonder.  Mechanically  he  slipped 
his  foot  into  the  other  shoe  and  found  another  coin. 

He  took  it  up,  and,  holding  up  both  hands,  stared 
at  the  coins  with  astonishment.  Then  he  suddenly 
clasped  his  hands  together,  and  fell  upon  his  knees,  cry- 
ing out,  in  aloud  voice:  "  O  God !  this  is  Thy  doing.  No 
mortal  knows  the  state  we  are  in  at  home  —  my  wife 
in  her  bed,  my  poor  grandchildren,  who  have  none  but 
me  to  care  for  them,  starving,  and  I  hardly  able  to  earn 
a  crust  with  these  old  hands.  It  is  God  who  has  sent 
me  these  blessed  coins,  or  one  of  his  angels." 

Then  he  paused,  and  another  idea  struck  him.  "  Per- 
haps it  is  not  an  angel  from  heaven.  There  are  angels 
even  in  this  world,  —  human  angels,  —  kind  hearts 
that  love  to  feed  the  hungry  and  succor  the  poor.  One 
of  these  may  have  passed  by,  like  sunshine  in  winter, 
and  seen  the  poor  old  man's  shoes,  and  dropped  all  this 
money  into  them,  then  gone  on  again,  not  even  waiting 
to  be  thanked. 

"  But  a  poor  man's  blessing  flies  fast,  and  shall  over- 
take him,  and  be  with  him  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and 
to  the  end  of  his  life.  May  God  and  His  angels  go  with 
you,  keep  you  from  poverty,  protect  you  from  sickness, 
and  may  you  feel  in  your  own  heart  some  of  the  warmth 
and  the  joy  you  have  brought  into  mine." 

He  put  on  his  shoes,  shouldered  his  ax,  and  went 
home. 

Then  the  spies  had  a  little  dialogue.  "  Now  this  I 
call  really  good  fun,"  said  the  tutor,  in  rather  a  shaky 
voice.  "  What  are  you  sniveling  at?  " 

"  It  isn't  I  that  am  sniveling;    it  is  you." 

"  Well,  then,  we  are  both  sniveling,"  said  the  tutor, 
and,  with  that,  being  foreigners,  they  embraced,  and  did 
not  conceal  their  emotions  any  longer. 


158  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Come  on!  "  said  the  boy. 

"  Where  next?  "  asked  the  tutor. 

"  Why,  follow  him,  to  be  sure.  I  want  to  know 
where  they  live.  Do  you  think  I  will  let  his  wife  be 
sick,  or  his  grandchildren  starve,  after  this,  if  I  can  help 
it?" 

"  Dear  boy,  I  don't  for  a  moment  think  you  will. 
Yours  is  not  the  age  nor  the  heart  that  does  things  by 
halves." 

So  they  dogged  their  victim  home,  and  the  young 
nobleman  secured  a  modest  competence  to  a  very  worthy 
and  poverty-stricken  family. 

"The  Youth'i  Companion."  Charles  Reade,  1814-1884. 


THE  OLIVE  TREE 

Said  an  ancient  hermit,  bending 
Half  in  prayer  upon  his  knee, 

"  Oil  I  need  for  midnight  watching, 
I  desire  an  olive  tree." 

Then  he  took  a  tender  sapling, 

Planted  it  before  his  cave, 
Spread  his  trembling  hands  above  it, 

As  his  bcnison  he  gave. 

But  he  thought,  the  rain  it  needeth, 
That  the  root  may  drink  and  swell; 

"  God!  I  pray  Thee  send  Thy  showers!  " 
So  a  gentle  shower  fell. 

"  Lord,  I  ask  for  beams  of  summer, 

Cherishing  this  little  child." 
Then  the  dripping  clouds  divided, 

And  the  sun  looked  down  and  smiled. 

"  Send  it  frost  to  brace  its  tissues, 
O  my  God!  "  the  hermit  cried. 

Then  the  plant  was  bright  and  hoary, 
But  at  evensong  it  died. 

Went  the  hermit  to  a  brother 

Sitting  in  his  rocky  cell: 
"  Thou  an  olive  tree  possessest; 

How  is  this,  my  brother,  tell? 


FOR     ORAL    ENGLISH  159 

"  I  have  planted  one,  and  prayed, 

Now  for  sunshine,  now  for  rain; 
God  hath  granted  each  petition, 

Yet  my  olive  tree  hath  slain!  " 

Said  the  other,  "  I  entrusted 

To  its  God  my  little  tree; 
He  who  made  knew  what  it  needed, 

Better  than  a  man  like  me. 

"  Laid  I  on  him  no  condition, 

Fixed  no  ways  and  means;   so  I 
Wonder  not  my  olive  thriveth, 

Whilst  thy  olive  tree  did  die." 

Sabine  Baring-Gould. 

A  WOMAN'S  LIGHTHOUSE 

During  a  wild  night  in  March,  in  a  fisherman's  hut, 
sat  a  young  girl  at  her  spinning  wheel,  and  looked  out 
on  the  dark  driving  clouds,  and  listened,  trembling,  to 
the  wind  and  the  sea. 

The  morning  light  dawned  at  last.  One  boat  that 
should  have  been  riding  on  the  troubled  waves  was 
missing  —  her  father's  boat !  and  half  a  mile  from  his 
cottage,  her  father's  body  was  washed  up  on  the  shore. 

She  watched  her  father's  body,  according  to  the 
custom  of  her  people,  till  he  was  laid  in  the  grave. 
Then  she  lay  down  on  her  bed  and  slept,  and  by  night 
got  up  and  set  a  candle  in  her  casement,  as  a  beacon  to 
the  fishermen  and  a  guide.  She  sat  by  the  candle  all 
night,  and  trimmed  it,  and  spun;  then  when  day 
dawned  she  went  to  bed  and  slept  in  the  sunshine. 

So  many  hanks  as  she  had  spun  before  for  her  daily 
bread,  she  spun  still,  and  one  over,  to  buy  her  nightly 
candle;  and  from  that  time  to  this,  for  fifty  years, 
through  youth,  maturity,  and  old  age,  she  has  turned 
night  into  day,  and  in  the  snowstorms  of  winter,  through 
driving  mists,  deceptive  moonlight,  and  solemn  dark- 
ness, that  northern  harbor  has  never  once  been  without 
the  light  of  her  candle.  .  .  . 

Fifty  years  of  life  and  labor  —  fifty  years  of  sleeping 
in  the  sunshine  —  fifty  years  of  watching  and  self- 


160  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

denial,  and  all  to  feed  the  flame  and  trim  the  wick  of 
that  one  candle! 

But  if  we  look  upon  the  recorded  lives  of  great  men, 
and  just  men,  and  wise  men,  few  of  them  can  show 
fifty  years  of  worthier,  certainly  not  of  more  successful 
labor.  Little,  indeed,  of  the  "midnight  oil"  consumed 
during  the  last  half  century  so  worthily  deserves  the 
trimming.  Happy  woman  —  and  but  for  the  dreaded 
rock  her  great  charity  might  never  have  been  called 
into  exercise! 

Abridged.  Jean  Ingelow,  1820-1897. 

GUALBERTO'S  VICTORY 

A  mountain  pass  so  narrow  that  a  man 
Riding  that  way  to  Florence,  stooping,  can 
Touch  with  his  hand  the  rocks  on  either  side, 
And  pluck  the  flowers  that  in  the  crannies  hide. 
Here,  on  Good  Friday,  centuries  ago, 
Mounted  and  armed,  John  Gualberto  met  his  foe; 
Mounted  and  armed  as  well,  but  riding  down 
To  the  fair  city  from  the  woodland  brown, 
This  way  and  that,  swinging  his  jewelled  whip, 
A  gay  old  love-song  on  his  careless  lip, 
And  on  his  charger's  neck  the  reins  loose  thrown. 

An  accidental  meeting;   but  the  sun 

Burned  on  their  brows,  as  if  it  had  been  one 

Of  deep  design,  so  deadly  was  the  look 

Of  mutual  hate  their  olive  faces  took; 

As  (knightly  courtesy  forgot  in  wrath,) 

Neither  would  yield  his  enemy  the  path. 

"  Back!  "  cried  Gualberto.     "  Never;  "  yelled  his  foe; 

And  on  the  instant,  sword  in  hand,  they  throw 

Them  from  their  saddles,  nothing  loath, 

And  fall  to  fighting,  with  a  smothered  oath. 

A  pair  of  shapely,  stalwart  cavaliers, 

Well-matched  in  stature,  weapons,  weight,  and  years, 

Theirs  was  a  long,  fierce  struggle  on  the  grass, 

Thrusting  and  parrying  up  and  down  the  pass; 

Swaying  from  left  to  right,  in  combat  clenched, 

Till  all  the  housings  of  their  steeds  were  drenched 

With  brutal  gore;   and  ugly  blood-drops  oozed 

Upon  the  rocks,  from  head  and  hands  contused. 

But  at  the  close,  when  Gualbert  stopped  to  rest, 

His  heel  was  planted  on  his  foeman's  breast; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  161 

And  looking  up,  the  fallen  courtier  sees, 
As  in  a  dream,  gray  rocks  and  waving  trees 
Before  his  glazing  vision  faintly  float, 
While  Gualbert's  sabre  glitters  at  his  throat. 

"  Now  die,  base  wretch!  "  the  victor  fiercely  cries, 

His  heart  of  hate  outflashing  from  his  eyes: 

"  Never  again,  by  the  all-righteous  Lord! 

Shalt  thou  with  life  escape  this  trusty  sword,  — 

Revenge  is  sweet!  "     And  upward  glanced  the  steel. 

But  ere  it  fell,  —  dear  Lord!  a  silvery  peal 

Of  voices  chanting  in  the  town  below, 

Grave,  ghostly  voices  chanting  far  below, 

Rose,  like  a  fountain's  spray  from  spires  of  snow, 

And  chimed  and  chimed  to  die  in  echoes  slow. 

In  the  sweet  silence  following  the  sound, 

Gualberto  and  the  man  upon  the  ground 

Glared  at  each  other  with  bewildered  eyes 

(The  glare  of  hunted  deer  on  leashed  hound) ; 

And  then  the  vanquished,  struggling  to  arise, 

Made  one  last  effort,  while  his  face  grew  dark 

With  pleading  agony:   "  Gualberto!  hark! 

The  chant  —  the  hour  —  thou  know'st  the  olden  fashion,  — 

The  monks  below  intone  our  Lord's  dear  Passion. 

Oh!  by  this  Cross!  "  —  "  and  here  he  caught  the  hilt 

Of  Gualbert's  sword,  —  and  by  the  Blood  once  spilt 

Upon  it  for  us  both  long  years  ago, 

Forgive  —  forget  —  and  spare  a  fallen  foe!  " 

The  face  that  bent  above  grew  white  and  set 

(Christ  or  the  demon?  —  in  the  balance  hung) : 

The  lips  were  drawn,  —  the  brow  bedewed  with  sweat,  — 

But  on  the  grass  the  harmless  sword  was  flung: 

And  stooping  down,  the  hero,  generous,  wrung 

The  outstretched  hand.     Then,  lest  he  lose  control 

Of  the  but  half-tamed  passions  of  his  soul, 

Fled  up  the  pathway,  tearing  casque  and  coat 

To  ease  the  tempest  throbbing  at  his  throat: 

Fled  up  the  crags,  as  if  a  fiend  pursued 

And  paused  not  till  he  reached  a  chapel  rude. 

There,  in  the  cool  dim  stillness,  on  his  knees, 

Trembling,  he  flings  himself,  and,  startled,  sees 

Set  in  the  rock  a  crucifix  antique, 

From  which  the  wounded  Christ  bends  down  to  speak. 

"  Thou  hast  done  well,  Gualberto.     For  my  sake 
Thou  did'st  forgive  thine  enemy;   now  take 
My  gracious  pardon  for  thy  times  of  sin, 
And  from  this  day  a  better  life  begin." 


162  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

White  flashed  the  angels'  wings  above  his  head, 
Rare,  subtile  perfumes  through  the  place  were  shed; 
And  golden  harps  and  sweetest  voices  poured 
Their  glorious  hosannas  to  the  Lord, 
Who  in  that  hour,  and  in  that  chapel  quaint, 
Changed  by  His  power,  by  His  dear  love's  constraint, 
Gualbert  the  sinner  into  John  the  saint. 

Eleanor  C.  Donnelly. 

THE  TIMID  HARE  THAT  FRIGHTENED  THE  BEASTS 

A  long  time  ago  in  India  a  lion  lived  in  a  wood  near 
the  Western  Ocean.  A  certain  hare  living  there  came 
one  day  and  lay  down  beneath  a  young  palm.  Sud- 
denly this  thought  struck  him,  "If  this  earth  should  be 
destroyed,  what  would  become  of  me?  "  At  this  very 
moment  something  fell  on  a  leaf  of  the  palm,  and  the 
hare  thought,  "  This  solid  earth  is  collapsing,"  and 
starting  up,  he  fled  without  so  much  as  looking  about 
him. 

Another  hare  saw  him  scampering  off  and  asked  the 
cause  of  his  panic.  "  Pray,  don't  ask  me,"  he  said. 
The  other  hare  cried,  "  Pray,  sir,  what  is  it?  "  and  kept 
running  after  him.  Then  the  first  hare  slackened  his 
pace  a  little,  and,  without  looking  back,  said,  "  The 
earth  is  breaking  up!  "  And  at  this  the  second  hare 
scampered  after  the  other.  Then  one  and  then  another 
hare  caught  sight  of  the  two  running,  and  joined  in,  till 
one  hundred  thousand  hares  all  took  flight  together. 

They  were  seen  by  a  deer,  a  boar,  an  elk,  a  buffalo,  a 
wild  ox,  a  rhinoceros,  a  tiger,  a  lion,  and  an  elephant. 
And  when  these  asked  what  it  meant  and  were  told  that 
the  earth  was  breaking  up,  they  also  fled.  By  degrees 
this  host  of  animals  extended  the  length  of  two  leagues. 

A  lion  seeing  this  headlong  flight  of  the  animals,  and, 
hearing  the  cause  of  it,  thought:  "  The  earth  is  no- 
where coming  to  an  end.  Surely  it  must  be  some  sound 
which  was  misunderstood  by  them.  If  I  don't  make  a 
great  effort,  they  will  all  perish.  I  must  save  them." 

So  he  rushed  before  them  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain, 
and  roared  three  times.  They  were  terribly  frightened 
at  the  lion,  and,  stopping  in  their  flight,  they  all  stood 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  163 

huddled  together.  The  lion  asked  why  they  were  run- 
ning away. 

"  The  earth  is  collapsing,"  they  answered. 

"  Who  saw  it  collapsing?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  elephants  know  all  about  it,"  they  replied. 

He  asked  the  elephants.  "  We  don't  know,"  they 
said,  "  the  lions  know."  But  the  lions  said,  "  We 
don't  know;  the  tigers  know."  The  tigers  said,  "  The 
rhinoceri  know."  The  rhinoceri  said,  "  The  wild  oxen 
know."  The  wild  oxen,  "  The  buffaloes  know."  The 
buffaloes,  "  The  elks  know."  The  elks,  "  The  boars." 
The  boars,  "  The  deer."  The  deer  said,  "  We  don't 
know;  the  hares  know."  When  the  hares  were  ques- 
tioned, they  pointed  to  one  particular  hare  and  said, 
"  This  one  told  us." 

So  the  wise  lion  asked,  "  Is  it  true,  sir,  that  the  earth 
is  breaking  up?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  saw  it,"  said  the  hare. 

"  Where  were  you,"  he  asked,  "  when  you  saw  it?  " 

"  Near  the  ocean,  sir,  in  the  grove  of  palms  mixed 
with  vilva  trees.  For  as  I  was  lying  beneath  a  palm 
sapling  at  the  foot  of  a  vilva  tree,  methought,  'If  this 
earth  should  break  up,  where  shall  I  go?  '  And  at  that 
very  moment  I  heard  the  sound  of  the  breaking  up  of 
the  earth,  and  I  fled." 

Thought  the  lion:  "  A  ripe  vilva  fruit  evidently  must 
have  fallen  on  a  palm  leaf  and  made  a  '  thud  '  and  this 
hare  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the  earth  was  com- 
ing to  an  end,  and  ran  away.  I  will  find  out  the  exact 
truth  about  it."  So  he  reassured  the  herd  of  animals, 
and  said:  "  I  will  take  the  hare  to  the  place  where  he 
lay  and  find  out  exactly  whether  the  earth  is  coming  to 
an  end  or  not.  Until  I  return  do  you  stay  here." 

Then,  placing  the  hare  on  his  back,  he  ran  with  all 
speed,  and,  putting  the  hare  down  in  a  palm  grove,  he 
said,  "  Come,  show  the  place." 

"  I  dare  not,  my  lord,"  said  the  hare. 

"  Come,  don't  be  afraid,"  said  the  lion. 

The  hare  dared  not  venture  to  go  near  the  vilva  tree, 


164  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

but  stood  far  off  and  cried,  "  Yonder,  sir,  is  the  place  of 
dreadful  sounds." 

After  hearing  what  the  hare  said,  the  lion  went  to 
the  foot  of  the  vilva  tree  and  saw  the  spot  where  the 
hare  had  been  lying,  and  also  the  ripe  vilva  fruit  that 
fell  on  the  palm  leaf.  Having  carefully  ascertained  that 
the  earth  had  not  broken  up,  he  placed  the  hare  on  his 
back  and  soon  came  again  to  the  herd  of  beasts.  He 
told  them  the  whole  story,  and  said,  "  Be  not  afraid." 
Having  thus  reassured  them,  he  let  them  go. 

Abridged  Not  known. 

CLEAR  THE  WAY! 
Men  of  thought  1  be  up  and  stirring, 

Night  and  day: 
Sow  the  seed  —  withdraw  the  curtain  — 

Clear  the  way! 
Men  of  action,  aid  and  cheer  them, 

As  ye  may ! 

There's  a  fount  about  to  stream, 
There's  a  light  about  to  beam, 
There's  a  warmth  about  to  glow, 
There's  a  flower  about  to  blow; 
There's  a  midnight  blackness  changing 

Into  gray; 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way! 
Once  the  welcome  light  has  broken, 

Who  shall  say 
What  the  unimagined  glories 

Of  the  day? 
What  the  evil  that  shall  perish 

In  its  ray? 

Aid  the  dawning,  tongue  and  pen; 
Aid  it,  hopes  of  honest  men; 
Aid  it,  paper  —  aid  it,  type  — 
Aid  it,  for  the  hour  is  ripe, 
And  our  earnest  must  not  slacken 

Into  play. 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way! 
Lo!  a  cloud's  about  to  vanish 

From  the  day; 
And  a  brazen  wrong  to  crumble 

Into  clay. 
Lo!  the  Right's  about  to  conquer, 

Clear  the  way! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  165 

With  the  Right,  shall  many  more 
Enter,  smiling,  at  the  door; 
With  the  giant  Wrong,  shall  fall 
Many  others,  great  and  small, 
That  for  ages  long  have  held  us 

For  their  prey. 
Men  of  thought  and  men  of  action, 

Clear  the  way! 

Charles  Mackay,  1814-1889. 

THE    DAISY'S    FIRST    WINTER 

Somewhere  in  a  garden  which  the  dear  Lord  has 
planted  with  many  flowers  of  gladness,  grew  a  fresh, 
bright,  little  daisy.  .  .  .  She  knew  intimately  all  the 
yellow  birds  and  meadow  larks,  and  bobolinks,  and  black- 
birds that  sang,  piped,  whistled,  or  chattered  among  the 
bushes  and  trees  in  the  pasture;  and  she  was  a  prime 
favorite  with  them  all.  .  .  . 

Daisy  had  the  greatest  pride  and  joy  in  her  own  pink 
blossoms,  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  an  inexhaustible 
store;  for,  as  fast  as  one  dropped  its  leaves,  another  was 
ready  to  open  its  eyes.  .  .  . 

"  How  favored  I  am!  "  said  the  daisy;  "  I  never  stop 
blossoming."  .  .  . 

"  But  you  must  remember,"  said  a  great  rough  Bur- 
dock to  her,  "  you  must  remember  that  your  winter 
must  come  at  last  when  all  this  fine  blossoming  will 
have  to  be  done  with."  .  .  . 

"  Tell  me,  Bobolink,"  said  Daisy,  "is  there  any  truth 
in  what  this  horrid  Burdock  has  been  saying?  What 
does  she  mean  by  winter?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  not  I,"  said  Bobolink,  as  he  turned 
a  dozen  somersets  in  the  air,  and  then  perched  himself 
airily  on  a  thistle  head.  .  .  . 

"  Then  it's  only  one  of  Burdock's  spiteful  sayings," 
said  Daisy.  "  Just  because  she  isn't  pretty,  she  wants 
to  spoil  my  pleasure  too.  Tell  me,  dear  lovely  tree,  is 
there  such  a  thing  as  winter?  " 

And  the  tree  said,  with  a  sigh  through  all  its  leaves: 
"  Yes,  there  will  be  winter;  but  fear  not,  for  the  Good 
Shepherd  makes  both  summer  and  winter,  and  each  is 
good  in  its  time.  Enjoy  the  summer  and  fear  not." 


166  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

The  months  rolled  by.  The  violets  had  long  ago 
stopped  blooming,  and  their  leaves  were  turning  yel- 
low. .  .  .  The  brookside  seemed  all  on  fire  with 
golden  rod,  .  .  .  and  the  blue- fringed  gentian  held  up 
its  cups.  .  .  .  But  still  the  daisy  had  leaves  and  blos- 
soms, and  was  strong  and  well  at  the  roots. 

By  and  by  there  came  keen,  cutting  winds  and  driv- 
ing storms  of  sleet  and  hail.  .  .  .  One  after  another 
the  leaves  and  flowers  fell  stiff  and  frozen  .  .  .  and  all 
the  birds  had  gone  singing  away  to  the  sunny  South 
following  the  summer  into  other  lands.  .  .  . 

The  frosts  came  harder  and  harder  every  night,  and 
first  they  froze  Daisy's  blossoms  and  then  they  froze 
her  leaves,  and  finally  all  were  gone  —  there  was  noth- 
ing left  but  the  poor  little  root,  with  the  folded  leaves 
of  the  future  left  in  its  bosom. 

"  Ah,  dear  tree,"  said  Daisy,  "  is  not  this  dreadful?  " 

"  Be  patient,  darling,"  said  the  tree,  "  I  have  seen 
many  winters;  but  the  Good  Shepherd  loses  never  a 
seed,  never  a  root,  never  a  flower;  they  will  all  come 
again." 

By  and  by  came  colder  days  and  colder,  and  the 
brook  froze  to  its  little  heart  and  stopped;  and  then 
there  came  bitter,  driving  storms  and  the  snow  wreathed 
Daisy's  head;  but  still  from  the  bare  branches  of  the 
apple  tree  came  a  voice  of  cheer.  "  Courage,  darling, 
and  patience!  Not  a  flower  shall  be  lost;  winter  is  only 
for  a  season.  .  .  .  The  spring  will  come  again,"  said 
the  tree. 

And  at  last  the  spring  did  come,  and  the  snow  melted 
and  ran  away  down  the  brook,  and  the  sun  shone  out 
warm,  and  fresh,  green  leaves  jumped  and  sprang  out 
of  every  dry  twig  of  the  apple  tree. 

And  one  bright,  rejoicing  day  little  Daisy  opened  her 
eyes,  and  lo!  there  were  all  her  friends  once  more.  .  .  . 
The  little  plants  were  coming  up  all  around  her.  The 
birds  all  came  back  and  began  building  their  nests,  and 
everything  was  brighter  and  fairer  than  before;  and 
Daisy  felt  strong  at  heart,  because  she  had  been  through 
a  winter,  and  learned  not  to  fear  it. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  167 

She  looked  up  into  the  apple  tree.  "  Will  there  be 
more  winter,  dear  tree?  "  she  said. 

"  Darling,  there  will;  but  fear  not.  Enjoy  the  pres- 
ent hour  and  leave  future  winters  to  Him  who  makes 
them.  .  .  .  The  snow  will  never  drive  so  cold,  or 
the  wind  beat  so  hard,  as  to  hurt  one  of  his  flowers. 
Every  blade  of  grass  is  counted,  and  puts  up  its  little 
head  in  the  right  time;  so  never  fear,  Daisy,  for  thou 
shalt  blossom  stronger  and  brighter  for  the  winter." 

Abridged  from  "Stories  and  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  1812-1896. 

Sketches  for  the  Young." 

NEW  YEAR 
Who  comes  dancing  over  the  snow, 

His  soft  little  feet  all  bare  and  rosy? 
Open  the  door,  though  the  wild  winds  blow, 
Take  the  child  in  and  make  him  cosy. 
Take  him  in  and  hold  him  dear; 
He  is  the  wonderful  New  Year. 

Open  your  heart,  be  it  sad  or  gay, 

Welcome  him  there  and  treat  him  kindly, 
For  you  must  carry  him,  yea  or  nay, 
Carry  him  with  shut  eyes  blindly. 
Whether  he  bringeth  joy  or  fear, 
Take  him;   God  sends  him,  this  good  New  Year. 

Dinah  Mulock  Craik,  1826-1887. 

THE  BUILDING  OF  ST.  SOPHIA 

Justinian,  Emperor  and  Augustus,  bent 

Upon  Byzantium's  embellishment, 

Whilst  musing,  sudden  started  up  and  cried: 

"  There  is  no  worthy  minster  edified 

Under  the  Ruler  of  earth,  sea,  and  skies, 

The  One  eternal,  and  the  only  wise. 

Great  Solomon  a  temple  built  of  old 

To  the  Omnipotent,  at  cost  untold. 

Great  was  his  power,  but  mine  must  his  surpass 

As  ruddy  gold  excels  the  yellow  brass. 

I,  too,  a  costly  church  will  dedicate, 

To  preach  God's  Majesty  and  tell  my  state." 

Then  called  the  Emperor  an  artist  skilled, 
With  sense  of  beauty  and  proportions  filled, 
And  said,  "  In  Wisdom's  name  I  bid  thee  build. 
Build  of  the  best,  best  ways,  and  make  no  spare, 
The  cost  entire  my  privy  purse  shall  bear. 
Solomon  took  gifts  of  gold,  and  wood,  and  stone, 


168  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

But  I,  Justinian,  build  the  Church  alone. 

Then  go,  ye  heralds!  forth  to  square  and  street, 

With  trumpet  blare,  and  everywhere  repeat, 

That  a  great  minster  shall  erected  be 

By  our  august  pacific  Majesty; 

And  bid  none  reckon  in  the  work  to  share, 

For  we  ourselves  the  entire  expense  will  bear." 

And  as  Justinian  lay  that  night  awake, 

Weary,  and  waiting  for  white  day  to  break, 

The  thought  rose  up,  "  Now  when  this  flesh  is  dead, 

My  soul,  by  its  attendant  spirit  led, 

Shall  hear  the  angel  at  the  great  gate  call, 

'  What  ho!     Justinian  comes,  magnifical, 

Who  to  the  Eternal  Wisdom  Uncreate 

A  church  did  build,  endow,  and  consecrate, 

The  like  of  which  by  man  was  never  trod : 

Then  rise,  Justinian!  to  the  realm  of  God.'  " 

Now  day  and  night  the  workmen  build;   apace 

The  church  arises,  full  of  form  and  grace; 

The  walls  upstart,  the  porch  and  portals  wide 

Are  traced,  the  marble  benches  down  each  side, 

The  sweeping  apse,  the  basement  of  the  piers, 

The  white  hewn  stone  is  laid  in  level  tiers. 

Upshoot  the  columns,  then  the  arches  turn, 

The  roof  with  gilded  scales  begins  to  burn. 

Next,  white  as  mountain  snow  the  mighty  dome 

Hangs  like  a  moon  above  the  second  Rome. 

Within,  mosaic  seraphs  spread  their  wings, 

And  cherubs  circle  round  the  King  of  kings 

On  whirling  wheels,  besprent  with  myriad  eyes; 

And  golden,  with  gold  hair,  against  blue  skies, 

Their  names  beside  them,  twelve  Apostles  stand, 

Six  on  the  left,  and  six  on  the  right  hand. 

And  from  an  aureole  of  jewelled  rays, 

The  Saviour's  countenance  doth  calmly  gaze. 

Fixed  is  the  silver  altar,  raised  the  screen, 

A  golden  network  prinked  red,  blue,  and  green, 

With  icons  studded,  hung  with  lamps  of  fire; 

And  ruby  curtained  round  the  sacred  choir. 

Then,  on  a  slab  above  the  western  door, 

Through  which,  next  day,  the  multitude  shall  pour, 

That  all  may  see  and  read,  the  sculptors  grave:  — 

"  This  House  to  God,  Justinian,  Emperor,  gave." 

And  now,  with  trumpet-blast  and  booming  gong 
Betwixt  long  lines  of  an  expectant  throng, 
The  imperial  procession  sweeps  along. 
The  saffron  flags  and  crimson  banners  flare 
Against  the  fair  blue  sky  above  the  square. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  169 

In  front  the  walls  of  Holy  Wisdom  glow, 

A  frost  of  jewels  set  in  banks  of  snow. 

Then  back  the  people  start  on  either  side, 

As  ripples  past  a  molten  silver  tide 

Of  Asian  troops  in  polished  mail;  next  pass 

Byzantine  guards,  a  wave  of  Corinth  brass. 

And  then,  with  thunder  tramp,  the  Varanger  bands 

Of  champions  gathered  from  grey  northern  lands, 

Above  whom  Odin's  raven  flaps  its  wings; 

And,  in  their  midst,  in  a  gold-harnessed  ring 

Of  chosen  heroes,  on  a  cream-white  steed 

In  gilded  trappings,  of  pure  Arab  breed, 

To  dedicate  his  church  doth  Caesar  ride 

In  all  his  splendour,  majesty,  and  pride. 

With  fuming  frankincense  and  flickering  lights 

The  vested  choir  come  forth  as  he  alights. 

Now  shrill  the  silver  clarions  loud  and  long, 

And  clash  the  cymbals,  bellows  hoarse  the  gong, 

A  wild  barbaric  crash.     Then  on  the  ear 

Surges  the  solemn  chanting,  full  and  clear: 

"  Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates,  and  open  swing, 

Ye  everlasting  doors  before  the  King!  " 

Back  start  the  silver  valves  —  in  sweeps  the  train, 

Next  throng  the  multitude  the  sacred  fane. 

Justinian  enters,  halts  a  little  space, 

With  haughty  exultation  on  his  face, 

And,  at  a  glance,  the  stately  church  surveys. 

Then  reads  above  the  portal  of  the  nave  — 

"  This  House  to  God,  Euphrasia,  widow,  gave." 

"  What  ho!  "  he  thunders,  with  a  burst  of  ire, 

As  to  his  face  flashes  a  scarlet  fire; 

"  Where  is  the  sculptor?     Silence  all  you  choir! 

Where  is  the  sculptor?  " 

Fails  the  choral  song, 

A  hush  falls  instant  on  the  mighty  throng. 
"  Bring  forth  the  sculptor  who  yon  sentence  wrought; 
His  merry  jest  he'll  find  full  dearly  bought." 
Then  fell  before  him,  trembling,  full  of  dread, 
The  graver.     "  Caesar,  God-preserved!  "  he  said, 
"  I  carved  not  that!  exchanged  has  been  the  name 
From  that  I  chiselled.     I  am  not  to  blame. 
This  is  a  miracle  —  no  mortal  hand 
Could  banish  one  and  make  another  stand, 
And  on  the  marble  leave  nor  scar  nor  trace, 
Where  was  the  name  deep  cut,  it  did  efface. 
Beside  the  letters,  Sire,  the  stone  is  whole," 


170  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Ha!  "  scoffed  the  Emperor,  "  now  by  my  soul, 
I  deemed  the  age  of  marvels  passed  away." 
Forth  stepped  the  Patriarch  with,  "  Sire,  I  pray, 
Hearken      I  saw  him  carve,  nor  I  alone, 
Thy  name  and  title  which  have  fled  the  stone; 
And  I  believe  the  finger  was  Divine 
Which  set  another  name  and  cancelled  thine  — 
The  finger  that,  which  wrote  upon  the  wall 
Belshazzar's  doom,  in  Babel's  sculptured  hall; 
The  finger  that,  which  cut  in  years  before 
On  Sinai's  top,  on  tables  twain,  the  Law." 
Justinian's  brow  grew  dark  with  wrath  and  fear: 
"  Who  is  Euphrasia,  widow,  I  would  hear, 
This  lady  who  my  orders  sets  at  naught, 
And  robs  me  of  the  recompense  I  sought. 
Who  is  Euphrasia?  " 

But  none  spake  a  word. 

"  What!  of  this  wealthy  lady  have  none  heard?  " 
Again  upon  the  concourse  silence  fell, 
For  none  could  answer  make,  and  tidings  tell. 
"  What!  no  man  know!     Go  some  the  city  round, 
And  ask  if  such  be  in  Byzantium  found." 

Then  said  a  priest,  and  faltered:   "  Of  that  name 
Is  one,  but  old,  and  very  poor,  and  lame, 
Who  has  a  cottage  close  upon  the  quay; 
But  she,  most  surely,  Sire,  it  cannot  be."  .  .  . 

"  Euphrasia,"  said  the  monarch  sternly,  "  speak! 
Wherefore  did'st  thou  my  strict  commandment  break 
And  give,  against  my  orders,  to  this  pile?  " 
The  widow  answered  simply,  with  a  faint  smile, 

"  Sire,  it  was  nothing;   for  I  only  threw 

A  little  straw  before  the  beasts  which  drew 

The  marble  from  the  ships,  before  I  knew 

Thou  wouldst  be  angry.     Sire!     I  had  been  ill 

Three  weary  months,  and  on  my  window-sill 

A  little  linnet  perched,  and  sang  each  day 

So  sweet,  it  cheered  me,  as  in  bed  I  lay, 

And  filled  my  heart  with  love  to  Him  who  sent 

The  linnet  to  me;  then,  with  full  intent 

To  render  thanks,  when  God  did  health  restore 

I  from  my  mattress  pulled  a  little  straw 

And  cast  it  to  the  oxen  that  did  draw 

The  marble  burdens  —  I  did  nothing  more." 

"  Look!  "  said  the  Caesar,  "  read  above  that  door! 
Small  though  thy  gift,  it  was  the  gift  of  love, 
And  is  accepted  of  our  King  above; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  171 

And  mine  rejected  as  the  gift  of  pride 
By  him  who  humble  lived  and  humble  died. 
Widow,  God  grant  hereafter,  when  we  meet, 
I  may  attain  a  footstool  at  thy  feet." 

Sabine  Baring-Gould. 

WAYS  OF  GIVING  ADVICE 

Among  all  the  different  ways  of  giving  counsel,  I 
think  the  finest  is  fable,  in  whatever  shape  it  appears. 
This  oblique  manner  of  giving  advice  is  so  inoffensive, 
that  if  we  look  into  ancient  histories,  we  find  that  the 
wise  men  of  old  very  often  chose  to  give  counsel  to  their 
kings  in  fables.  There  is  a  pretty  instance  of  this 
nature  in  a  Turkish  tale,  which  I  do  not  like  the  worse 
for  that  little  oriental  extravagance  mixed  with  it. 

The  Sultan  Mahmoud,  by  his  perpetual  wars  abroad 
and  his  tyranny  at  home,  had  filled  his  dominions  with 
ruin  and  desolation,  and  half  unpeopled  the  Persian 
empire.  The  vizier  to  this  great  Sultan  —  whether  a 
humorist  or  an  enthusiast  we  are  not  informed  —  pre- 
tended to  have  learned  from  a  certain  dervise  to  under- 
stand the  language  of  birds,  so  that  there  was  not  a 
bird  that  could  open  his  mouth  but  the  vizier  knew  what 
was  said. 

As  he  was  one  evening  with  the  Sultan,  on  their  re- 
turn from  hunting,  they  saw  a  couple  of  owls  near  a 
tree  that  grew  by  an  old  wall  out  of  a  heap  of  rubbish. 
"  I  would  fain  know,"  said  the  Sultan,  "  what  those  two 
owls  are  saying  to  each  other;  listen  to  their  discourse, 
and  give  me  an  account  of  it." 

The  vizier  approached  the  tree,  pretending  to  be  very 
attentive  to  the  two  owls.  Upon  his  return  to  the 
Sultan,  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  I  have  heard  part  of  their  con- 
versation, but  dare  not  tell  you  what  it  is."  The  Sultan 
would  not  be  satisfied  with  such  an  answer,  but  forced 
the  vizier  to  repeat  word  for  word  everything  that  the 
owls  had  said. 

"  You  must  know,  then,"  said  the  vizier,  "  that  one 
of  these  owls  has  a  son,  and  the  other  a  daughter,  be- 
tween whom  they  are  now  upon  a  treaty  of  marriage. 


172  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  The  father  of  the  son  said  to  the  father  of  the 
daughter,  in  my  hearing,  '  Brother,  I  consent  to  this 
marriage,  provided  you  will  settle  upon  your  daughter 
fifty  ruined  villages  for  her  portion.' 

"  To  which  the  father  of  the  daughter  replied,  '  In- 
stead of  fifty,  I  will  give  her  five  hundred,  if  you  please. 
God  grant  a  long  life  to  Sultan  Mahmoud!  Whilst  he 
reigns  over  us,  we  shall  never  want  ruined  villages.'  ' 

The  story  says  that  the  Sultan  was  so  touched  with 
the  fable,  that  he  rebuilt  the  towns  and  villages  which 
had  been  destroyed,  and  from  that  time  forward  con- 
sulted the  good  of  his  people. 

Joseph  Addison,  1672-1719. 

THE   HOUSE   BY  THE   SIDE   OF  THE   ROAD 
"  He  was  a  friend  to  man  and  lived  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  the  road." —  Homer. 

There  are  hermit  souls  that  live  withdrawn 

In  the  place  of  their  self  content; 
There  are  souls,  like  stars,  that  dwell  apart, 

In  a  fellowless  firmament; 
There  are  pioneer  souls  that  blaze  their  paths 

Where  highways  never  ran  — 
But  let  me  live  by  the  side  of  the  road 

And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

Let  me  live  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

Where  the  race  of  men  go  by  — 
The  men  who  are  good  and  the  men  who  are  bad, 

As  good  and  as  bad  as  I, 
I  would  not  sit  in  the  scorner's  seat, 

Or  hurl  the  cynic's  ban  — 
Let  me  live  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 

And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

I  see  from  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

By  the  side  of  the  highway  of  life, 
The  men  who  press  with  the  ardor  of  hope, 

The  men  who  are  faint  with  the  strife. 
But  I  turn  not  away  from  their  smiles  nor  their  tears  — 

Both  parts  of  an  infinite  plan  — 
Let  me  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 

And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

I  know  there  are  brook-gladdened  meadows  ahead 

And  mountains  of  wearisome  height; 
That  the  road  passes  on  through  the  long  afternoon 

And  stretches  away  to  the  night. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  173 

But  still  I  rejoice  when  the  travelers  rejoice, 

And  weep  with  the  strangers  that  moan, 
Nor  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 

Like  a  man  who  dwells  alone. 

Let  me  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 

Where  the  race  of  men  go  by  — 
They  are  good,  they  are  bad,  they  are  weak,  they  are  strong, 

Wise,  foolish  —  so  am  I. 
Then  why  should  I  sit  in  the  scorner's  seat, 

Or  hurl  the  cynic's  ban? 
Let  me  live  in  my  house  by  the  side  of  the  road 

And  be  a  friend  to  man. 

From  "  Dreams  in  Homespun."  Sam  Walter  Foss,  1858-1911. 

Copyright,  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Co. 
By  permission. 

THE  RUSSIAN'S  DAUGHTER 

Prascovia  was  the  daughter  of  a  captain  in  the 
Russian  army,  who  for  some  unknown  reason  had  un- 
dergone the  sentence  of  exile  to  Siberia,  from  the  ca- 
pricious and  insane  Czar,  Paul  I.  ...  Her  father  was 
condemned  to  spend  his  life  in  this  desolate  region. 
His  wife,  and  their  little  girl  of  about  three  years  old, 
accompanied  him,  and  the  former  adapted  herself 
patiently  to  her  situation,  working  hard  at  the  common 
domestic  cares  which  she  had  been  used  to  trust  to 
servants;  and  as  the  little  Prascovia  grew  older,  she 
not  only  helped  her  mother,  but  gained  employment  in 
the  village.  She  was  very  happy,  even  in  this  wild, 
dreary  home,  amid  all  the  deep  snows,  iron  frosts,  and 
long  darkness,  until  she  was  nearly  fifteen,  when  she 
began  to  understand  how  wretched  her  father  was  in 
his  banishment.  .  .  .  His  despair  awoke  Prascovia  from 
her  childish  enjoyments.  She  daily  prayed  that  he 
might  be  brought  home  and  comforted,  and  it  one  day 
darted  into  her  mind  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  that  she 
might  go  to  Petersburg  and  obtain  his  pardon.  .  .  . 

Her  father  listened  to  her  plan  in  silence,  then  called 
out  to  his  wife :  "  Here  is  a  fine  patroness !  Our  daughter 
is  going  off  to  Petersburg  to  speak  for  us  to  the  Emperor," 
and  he  related,  in  a  tone  of  amusement,  all  the  scheme 
that  had  been  laid  before  him  with  such  a  throbbing 
heart.  .  .  .  Still  day  after  day  Prascovia  entreated  that 


174  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

her  scheme  might  at  least  be  considered,  till  her  father 
grew  displeased,  and  forbade  her  to  mention  it  again. 
She  abstained ;  but  for  three  whole  years  she  never  failed 
to  add  to  her  daily  prayers  a  petition  that  his  consent 
might  be  gained.  .  .  . 

Without  a  passport  she  would  have  immediately  been 
sent  back  to  Ischim.  .  .  .  However,  one  of  their  fellow 
exiles  drew  up  a  request  in  due  form  for  a  passport 
for  her,  and  after  six  months  more  of  waiting  the 
answer  arrived.  Her  father,  however,  seized  upon  it 
and  locked  it  up,  declaring  that  he  had  only  allowed  the 
application  to  go  in  the  certainty  that  it  would  be  re- 
fused, and  that  nothing  should  induce  him  to  let  a  girl 
of  eighteen  depart  alone  for  such  a  journey.  .  .  .  But 
at  last  he  yielded.  "  What  shall  we  do  with  this  child?  " 
he  said:  "we  shall  have  to  let  her  go."  Still  he  said: 
"  Do  you  think,  poor  child,  that  you  can  speak  to  the 
Emperor  as  you  speak  to  your  father  in  Siberia?  Sen- 
tinels guard  every  entrance  to  his  palace,  and  you  will 
never  pass  the  threshold.  Poor  even  to  beggary,  with- 
out clothes  or  introductions,  how  could  you  appear,  and 
who  will  deign  to  present  you?  "  However,  Prascovia 
trusted  that  the  same  Providence  that  had  brought  her 
the  passport  would  smooth  other  difficulties.  And  at 
length  the  day  was  fixed  for  her  departure. 

At  dawn  she  was  dressed,  with  a  little  bag  over  her 
shoulder,  and  her  father  was  trying  to  make  her  take 
the  whole  family  store  of  wealth,  one  silver  rouble, 
though,  as  she  truly  said,  this  was  not  enough  to  take 
her  to  Petersburg,  and  might  do  some  good  at  home, 
and  she  only  took  it  at  last  when  he  laid  his  strict  com- 
mands on  her.  .  .  .  When  the  first  sunbeam  shone  into 
the  room,  there  was,  according  to  the  beautiful  old 
Russian  custom,  a  short,  solemn  silence  for  private 
prayer  for  the  traveler.  Then,  there  was  a  last  em- 
brace, and  Prascovia,  kneeling  down,  received  her 
parents'  blessing,  rose  up,  and  set  her  face  upon  her 
way  —  a  girl  with  a  single  rouble  in  her  pocket,  to  walk 
through  vast  expanses  of  forest,  and  make  her  way  to 
the  presence  of  her  sovereign.  .  .  . 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  175 

She  often  lost  her  way;  and  when  she  asked  the 
road  to  Petersburg,  she  was  only  laughed  at.  ...  In 
the  lesser  hamlets  she  was  usually  kindly  received,  but 
in  the  larger  places  she  was  often  treated  as  a  suspicious- 
looking  vagabond.  .  .  .  At  one  house  where  she  sat 
down  at  the  door,  the  mistress  drove  her  off,  saying  that 
she  harbored  neither  thieves  nor  vagabonds.  "  At 
least,"  thought  the  poor  wanderer,  "  they  cannot  hunt 
me  from  the  church;"  but  she  found  the  door  locked, 
and  when  she  sat  down  on  its  stone  steps,  the  village 
boys  came  round  her,  hooting  at  her,  and  calling  her  a 
thief  and  runaway;  and  thus  she  remained  for  two 
whole  hours,  ready  to  die  with  cold  and  hunger,  but 
inwardly  praying  for  strength  to  bear  this  trial. 

At  last,  however,  a  kind  woman  came  up  through  the 
rude  little  mob,  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  gentle  manner. 
The  good  woman  offered  to  take  her  home,  but  on  try- 
ing to  rise  Prascovia  found  her  limbs  so  stiff  that  she 
could  not  move;  she  had  lost  one  of  her  shoes,  and  her 
feet  were  terribly  swollen.  The  villagers  fetched  a  cart 
and  lodged  her  safely  with  the  good  woman,  with  whom 
she  remained  several  days,  and  when  she  was  again  able 
to  proceed,  one  of  the  villagers  gave  her  a  pair  of  boots. 
She  was  often  obliged  to  rest  for  a  day  or  two,  according 
to  the  state  of  her  strength,  the  weather,  or  the  recep- 
tion she  met  with,  and  she  always  endeavored  to  requite 
the  hospitality  she  received  by  little  services,  such  as 
sweeping,  washing,  or  sewing  for  her  hosts.  .  .  . 

Winter  began  to  come  on,  and  an  eight  days'  snow- 
storm forced  her  to  stop  till  it  was  over;  but  when  she 
wanted  to  set  off  again,  the  peasants  declared  that  to 
travel  on  foot  alone  in  the  snow  would  be  certain  death 
even  for  the  strongest  men,  for  the  wind  raises  the 
drifts,  and  makes  the  way  undistinguishable,  so  they  de- 
tained her  till  the  arrival  of  a  convoy  of  sledges,  which 
were  carrying  provisions  from  one  town  to  another. 
The  drivers,  on  learning  her  story,  offered  her  a  seat  in 
a  sledge,  but  her  garments  were  not  adapted  for  winter 
traveling,  and  though  they  covered  her  with  one  of  the 
wrappers  of  their  goods,  on  the  fourth  day,  when  they 


176  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

arrived  at  a  posting  station,  the  intense  cold  had  so 
affected  her,  that  she  was  obliged  to  be  lifted  from  the 
sledge,  with  one  cheek  frostbitten.  The  good  car- 
riers rubbed  it  with  snow,  and  took  every  possible  care 
of  her,  but  it  was  impossible  to  take  her  on  without  a 
sheepskin  pelisse,  since  otherwise  her  death  from  the  in- 
creasing cold  was  certain.  She  cried  bitterly  at  the 
thought  of  missing  this  excellent  escort,  so  the  carriers 
agreed  to  club  together  to  buy  her  a  sheepskin,  but 
none  could  be  had.  At  last  an  expedient  was  found. 
"  Let  us  lend  her  our  pelisses  by  turns,"  said  one  of  the 
carriers.  "  Or  rather,  let  her  always  wear  mine,  and 
we  will  change  about  every  verst."  To  this  all  agreed; 
Prascovia  was  well  wrapped  up  in  one  of  the  sheepskin 
pelisses,  whose  owner  rolled  himself  in  the  wrapper, 
curled  his  feet  under  him,  and  sung  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs.  .  .  . 

At  the  inn  at  which  they  put  up,  the  hostess  told 
Prascovia  the  names  of  the  most  charitable  persons  in 
the  town,  and  so  especially  praised  a  certain  Madame 
Milin,  that  Prascovia  resolved  to  apply  to  her  the  next 
day  for  advice  how  to  proceed  further.  First,  as  it  was 
Sunday,  she  went  to  church.  Her  worn  traveling  dress, 
as  well  as  her  fervent  devotion  attracted  attention,  and 
as  she  came  out,  a  lady  asked  her  who  she  was.  Pras- 
covia gave  her  name,  and  further  requested  to  be  di- 
rected where  to  find  Madame  Milin,  whose  beneficence 
was  everywhere  talked  of.  "  I  am  afraid,"  said  the 
lady,  "  that  this  Madame  Milin's  beneficence  is  a  good 
deal  exaggerated;  but  come  with  me,  and  I  will  take 
care  of  you." 

Prascovia  did  not  much  like  this  way  of  speaking; 
but  the  stranger  pointed  to  Madame  Milin's  door,  say- 
ing that  if  she  were  rejected  there,  she  must  return  to 
her.  Without  answering,  Prascovia  asked  the  servants 
whether  Madame  Milin  were  at  home,  and  only  when 
they  looked  at  their  mistress  in  amazement,  did  she  dis- 
cover that  she  had  been  talking  to  Madame  Milin  herself 
all  the  time. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  177 

This  good  lady  kept  her  as  a  guest  all  the  rest  of  the 
winter,  and  would  not  allow  her  to  leave  till  the  spring. 
She  then  took  a  place  for  her  in  a  barge  upon  the  river 
Khama,  and  put  her  under  the  care  of  a  man  who  was 
going  to  Nishni  Novgorod,  with  a  cargo  of  iron  and 
salt.  .  .  . 

When  they  reached  their  destination,  the  bargemen 
set  her  ashore  at  the  usual  landing  place.  She  saw  a 
church  on  a  rising  ground  before  her,  and,  according  to 
her  usual  custom,  she  went  up  to  pray  before  going  to 
seek  a  lodging.  The  building  was  empty,  but  behind 
a  grating  she  heard  the  voices  of  women  at  their  even- 
ing devotions.  It  was  a  nunnery,  and  these  female 
tones  refreshed  and  encouraged  her.  "  If  God  grants 
my  prayers,"  she  thought,  '"  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  thank  and  praise  Him."  After  the  service,  she 
lingered  near  the  convent  until  one  of  the  nuns  who 
had  remained  there  told  her  it  was  time  to  close  the 
doors,  and  Prascovia  ventured  to  beg  for  a  night's 
shelter  in  the  convent.  The  sister  replied  that  they  did 
not  receive  travelers,  but  that  she  would  take  her  to 
the  abbess.  Her  artless  story,  supported  by  her  pass- 
port, filled  the  good  sisterhood  with  excitement  and  de- 
light; the  abbess  made  her  sleep  in  her  own  room,  and 
finding  how  severely  she  was  suffering  from  the  effects 
of  her  exposure,  insisted  on  her  remaining  a  few  days 
to  rest.  ...  4 

At  last  she  set  off  again  for  Moscow  in  a  covered 
sledge,  with  a  letter  from  the  abbess  to  a  lady  who  sent 
her  on  again  to  Petersburg,  under  the  care  of  a  mer- 
chant. Thus  at  length  she  arrived  at  the  end  of  her 
journey,  eighteen  months  after  she  had  set  off  from 
Ischim  with  her  rouble  and  her  staff.  The  merchant 
took  her  to  his  own  house,  till  she  could  secure  an  audi- 
ence with  the  Czar.  .  .  . 

Through  the  kind  aid  of  the  nobles  and  ladies  of  the 
court  she  at  last  was  presented  to  the  Empress  Mother 
who  took  her  to  a  private  audience  of  the  Emperor  him- 
self and  his  wife,  the  Empress  Elizabeth.  No  par- 
ticulars are  given  of  this  meeting,  except  that  Prascovia 


178  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

was  most  graciously  received,  and  that  she  came  away 
with  a  gift  of  5,000  roubles,  and  the  promise  that  her 
father's  trial  should  be  at  once  revised. 

She  did  not  forget  the  two  fellow  exiles  who  had  been 
so  kind  to  her;  she  mentioned  them  to  every  one,  but 
was  always  advised  not  to  encumber  her  suit  for  her 
father  by  mentioning  them.  However,  when,  after 
some  delay,  she  received  notice  that  an  order  had  been 
issued  for  her  father's  pardon,  and  was  further  told  that 
His  Majesty  wished  to  know  if  she  had  anything  to  ask 
for  herself,  she  replied,  that  he  would  overwhelm  her 
with  his  favors  if  he  would  extend  the  same  mercy  that 
he  had  granted  to  her  father  to  these  two  poor  old 
banished  gentlemen;  and  the  Emperor,  struck  by  this 
absence  of  all  selfishness,  readily  pardoned  them  for 
their  offence. 

Prascovia  had  always  intended  to  dedicate  herself  as 
a  nun,  believing  that  this  would  be  her  fullest  thank- 
offering  for  her  father's  pardon,  and  her  heart  was  drawn 
towards  the  convent  at  Nishni  where  she  had  been  so 
tenderly  nursed  during  her  illness.  She  went  to  Kief, 
where  she  took  the  monastic  vows.  .  .  .  From  Kief,  she 
returned  to  Nishni.  There  she  hoped  to  meet  her 
parents.  She  had  reckoned  that  about  the  time  of  her 
arrival  they  might  be  on  their  way  back  from  Siberia, 
and  as  soon  as  she  met  the  abbess,  she  eagerly  asked  if 
there  were  no  tidings  of  them:  "  Excellent  tidings," 
said  the  abess.  "  I  will  tell  you  in  my  rooms."  Pras- 
covia followed  her  to  the  reception  room,  and  there 
stood  her  father  and  mother!  Their  first  impulse  on 
seeing  their  daughter  who  had  done  so  much  for  them 
was  to  fall  on  their  knees ;  but  she  cried  out  with  dismay, 
and,  herself  kneeling,  exclaimed:  "  What  are  you  doing? 
It  is  God,  God  only,  who  worked  for  us.  Thanks  be  to 
his  providence  for  the  wonders  he  has  wrought  in  our 
favor." 

For  one  week  the  parents  and  child  were  happy  to- 
gether; but  then  Captain  Lopouloff  and  his  wife  were 
forced  to  proceed  on  their  journey.  .  .  . 

Abridged  from  "  A  Book  of  Golden  Deeds."  Charlotte  M.  Yongc. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  179 

THE  STORM  WIND 

The  great  South-West  drives  o'er  the  earth, 
And  loosens  all  his  roaring  robes 
Behind  him,  over  heath  and  moor.  .  .  . 
Now  whirring  like  an  eagle's  wing 
Preparing  for  a  wide  blue  flight; 
Now  flapping  like  a  sail  that  tacks 
And  chides  the  wet  bewildered  mast; 
Now  screaming  like  an  anguished  thing 
Chased  close  by  some  down-breathing  beak; 
Now  wailing  like  a  breaking  heart, 
That  will  not  wholly  break,  but  hopes 
With  hope  that  knows  itself  in  vain; 
Now  threatening  like  a  storm-charged  cloud; 
Now  cooing  like  a  woodland  dove; 
Now  up  again  in  roar  and  wrath 
High  soaring  and  wide  sweeping;   now 
With  sudden  fury  dashing  down 
Full  force  on  the  awaiting  woods. 

George  Meredith. 
MAY 

Would  that  thou  couldst  last  for  aye, 
Merry,  ever  merry  May ! 
Made  of  sun-gleams,  shade,  and  showers, 
Bursting  buds,  and  breathing  flowers; 
Dripping-locked,  and  rosy-vested, 
Violet-slippered,  rainbow-crested ; 
Girdled  with  the  eglantine, 
Festoon 'd  with  the  dewy  vine; 
Merry,  ever  merry  May, 
Would  that  thou  couldst  last  for  aye! 

W.  D.  Gallagher. 
A  SKATER  PURSUED  BY  WOLVES  " 

During  the  winter  of  1844  I  had  much  leisure  to  de- 
vote to  the  sports  of  a  new  country.  To  none  of  these 
was  I  more  passionately  addicted  than  to  skating. 
The  deep  and  lonely  lakes,  frozen  by  the  intense  cold  of 
a  northern  winter,  present  a  wide  field  to  the  lovers  of 
this  pastime.  Often  would  I  bind  on  my  skates  and 
glide  away  up  the  glittering  river,  and  wind  each  mazy 
streamlet  that  flowed  beneath  its  fetters  on  toward  the 
parent  ocean. 

I  had  left  my  friend's  house  one  evening  just  before 
dusk,  with  the  intention  of  skating  a  short  distance 
up  the  noble  river  which  glided  directly  before  the  door. 
The  night  was  beautifully  clear.  'A  bright  moon  rode 


180  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

through  an  occasional  fleecy  cloud,  and  stars  twinkled 
from  the  sky  and  from  every  frost-covered  tree  in  mil- 
lions. Light  also  came  glinting  from  ice,  and  snow- 
wreath,  and  incrusted  branches,  as  the  eye  followed  for 
miles  the  broad  gleam  of  the  river,  that  like  a  jeweled 
zone  swept  between  the  mighty  forests  on  its  banks. 

And  yet  all  was  still.  The  cold  seemed  to  have 
frozen  tree,  and  air,  and  water,  and  every  living  thing. 
Even  the  ringing  of  my  skates  echoed  back  from  the 
hill  with  a  startling  clearness;  and  the  crackle  of  the 
ice,  as  I  passed  over  it  in  my  course,  seemed  to  follow 
the  tide  of  the  river  with  lightning  speed. 

I  had  gone  up  the  river  nearly  two  miles,  when,  com- 
ing to  a  little  stream  which  empties  into  the  larger,  I 
turned  into  it  to  explore  its  course.  Fir  and  hemlock  of 
a  century's  growth  met  overhead,  and  formed  an  arch- 
way radiant  with  frost  work.  All  was  dark  within;  but 
I  was  young  and  fearless,  and,  as  I  peered  into  an  un- 
broken forest  that  reared  itself  on  the  borders  of  the 
stream,  I  laughed  with  very  joyousness.  My  wild 
hurrah  rang  through  the  silent  woods,  and  I  stood  lis- 
tening to  the  echo  that  reverberated  again  and  again, 
until  all  was  hushed. 

Suddenly  a  sound  arose  —  it  seemed  to  me  to  come 
from  beneath  the  ice;  it  was  low  and  tremulous  at  first, 
but  it  ended  in  one  long  wild  yell.  I  was  appalled. 
Never  before  had  such  a  noise  met  my  ears.  Presently 
I  heard  the  brushwood  on  shore  crash,  as  though  from 
the  tread  of  some  animal  —  the  blood  rushed  to  my 
forehead  —  my  energies  returned,  and  I  looked  around 
me  for  some  means  of  escape. 

The  moon  shone  through  the  opening  at  the  mouth 
of  the  creek  by  which  I  had  entered  the  forest,  and, 
considering  this  the  best  means  of  escape,  I  darted 
toward  it  like  an  arrow.  It  was  hardly  a  hundred 
yards  distant,  and  the  swallow  could  scarcely  have  ex- 
celled me  in  flight;  yet,  as  I  turned  my  head  to  the 
shore,  I  could  see  two  dark  objects  dashing  through  the 
brushwood  at  a  pace  nearly  double  in  speed  to  my 
own.  By  their  great  speed,  and  the  short  yells  which 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  181 

they  occasionally  gave,  I  knew  at  once  that  these  were 
the  much-dreaded  gray  wolves. 

I  had  never  met  with  these  animals;  but,  from  the 
description  given  of  them,  I  had  little  pleasure  in  making 
their  acquaintance.  Their  untamable  fierceness  and 
untiring  strength  render  them  objects  of  dread  to  every 
benighted  traveler. 

With  their  long  gallop  they  pursue  their  prey,  never 
straying  from  the  track  of  their  victim;  and  though, 
perhaps,  the  wearied  hunter  thinks  that  he  has  at  last 
outstripped  them,  he  finds  that  they  have  but  waited 
for  the  evening  to  seize  him. 

The  bushes  that  skirted  the  shore  flew  past  with  the 
velocity  of  lightning  as  I  dashed  on  in  my  flight  to 
pass  the  narrow  opening.  The  outlet  was  nearly  gained 
—  a  few  seconds  more  and  I  would  be  comparatively 
safe;  but  in  a  moment  my  pursuers  appeared  on  the 
bank  above  me,  which  here  rose  to  the  height  of  ten 
feet.  There  was  no  time  for  thought  —  I  bent  my  head 
and  dashed  madly  forward.  The  wolves  sprang,  but, 
miscalculating  my  speed,  fell  behind,  while  I  glided  out 
upon  the  river! 

Nature  turned  me  toward  home.  The  light  flakes  of 
snow  spun  from  the  iron  of  my  skates,  and  I  was  some 
distance  from  my  pursuers,  when  their  fierce  howl  told 
me  I  was  still  their  fugitive.  I  did  not  look  back;  I 
did  not  feel  afraid,  or  sorry,  or  glad;  one  thought  of 
home,  of  the  bright  faces  awaiting  my  return,  and  of 
their  tears  if  they  never  should  see  me,  and  then  all  the 
energies  of  body  and  mind  were  exerted  for  escape. 

I  was  perfectly  at  home  on  the  ice.  Many  were  the 
days  that  I  had  spent  on  my  good  skates,  never  think- 
ing that  they  would  thus  prove  my  only  means  of 
safety.  Every  half-minute  a  furious  yelp  from  my 
fierce  attendants  made  me  but  too  certain  that  they 
were  in  close  pursuit.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came; 
at  last  I  heard  their  feet  pattering  on  the  ice,  I  even 
felt  their  very  breath,  and  heard  their  snuffing  scent! 
Every  nerve  and  muscle  in  my  frame  was  stretched  to 
the  utmost  tension. 


182  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

The  trees  along  the  shore  seemed  to  dance  in  an  un- 
certain light,  and  my  brain  turned  with  my  own  breath- 
less speed;  yet  still  my  pursuers  seemed  to  hiss  forth 
their  breath  with  a  sound  truly  horrible,  when  an  in- 
voluntary motion  on  my  part  turned  me  out  of  my 
course.  The  wolves,  close  behind,  unable  to  stop,  and 
as  unable  to  turn  on  the  smooth  ice,  slipped  and  fell, 
still  going  on  far  ahead. 

Their  tongues  were  lolling  out;  their  white  tusks 
were  gleaming  from  their  bloody  mouths;  their  dark 
shaggy  breasts  were  fleeced  with  foam;  and  as  they 
passed  me  their  eyes  glared,  and  they  howled  with 
fury.  The  thought  flashed  on  my  mind  that  by  this 
means  I  could  avoid  them  —  namely,  by  turning  aside 
whenever  they  came  too  near;  for,  by  the  formation  of 
their  feet,  they  are  unable  to  run  on  the  ice  except  in  a 
straight  line. 

I  immediately  acted  upon  this  plan.  The  wolves, 
having  regained  their  feet,  sprang  directly  toward  me. 
The  race  was  renewed  for  twenty  yards  up  the  stream; 
they  were  already  close  on  my  back,  when  I  glided 
round  and  dashed  directly  past  them.  A  fierce  yell 
greeted  this  movement,  and  the  wolves,  slipping  on 
their  haunches,  sailed  onward,  presenting  a  perfect 
picture  of  helplessness  and  baffled  rage.  Thus  I  gained 
nearly  a  hundred  yards  at  each  turning.  This  was  re- 
peated two  or  three  times,  every  moment  the  animals 
becoming  more  excited  and  baffled. 

At  one  time,  by  my  delaying  my  turning  too  long, 
my  fierce  enemies  came  so  near  that  they  threw  their 
white  foam  over  my  dress  as  they  sprang  to  seize  me, 
and  their  teeth  clashed  together  like  the  spring  of  a 
fox -trap !  Had  my  skates  failed  for  one  instant  —  had 
I  tripped  on  a  stick,  or  had  my  foot  been  caught  in  a 
fissure  of  the  ice  —  the  story  I  am  now  telling  would 
never  have  been  told. 

I  thought  all  the  chances  over.  I  knew  where  they 
would  first  seize  me  if  I  fell.  I  thought  how  long  it 
would  be  before  I  died;  and  then  of  the  search  for  my 
body,  that  would  already  have  found  its  tomb;  for  oh! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  183 

how  fast  man's  mind  traces  out  all  the  dread  colors  of 
death's  picture,  only  those  who  have  been  near  the  grim 
original  can  tell. 

But  I  soon  came  opposite  the  house,  and  my  hounds 
—  I  knew  their  deep  voices  —  roused  by  the  noise, 
bayed  furiously  from  their  kennels.  I  heard  their 
chains  rattle;  how  I  wished  they  would  break  them!  — 
then  I  would  have  had  protectors  to  match  the  fiercest 
denizens  of  the  forest.  The  wolves,  taking  the  hint 
conveyed  by  the  dogs,  stopped  in  their  mad  career,  and 
after  a  few  moments  turned  and  fled.  I  watched  them 
until  their  forms  disappeared  over  a  neighboring  hill. 

Not  known. 

OUR]  NATIONAL  BANNER 
O'er  the  high  and  o'er  the  lowly 
Floats  that  banner  bright  and  holy, 

In  the  rays  of  Freedom's  sun, 
In  the  nation's  heart  embedded, 
O'er  our  Union  newly  wedded, 
One  in  all,  and  all  in  one. 

Let  that  banner  wave  forever, 
May  its  lustrous  stars  fade  never, 

Till  the  stars  shall  pale  on  high; 
While  there's  right  the  wrong  defeating, 
While  there's  hope  in  true  hearts  beating, 

Truth  and  freedom  shall  not  die. 

As  it  floated  long  before  us, 
Be  it  ever  floating  o'er  us, 

O'er  our  land  from  shore  to  shore: 
There  are  freemen  yet  to  wave  it, 
Millions  who  would  die  to  save  it, 

Wave  it,  save  it,  evermore. 

William  Maxwell  Evarts. 

THE  DAISY 

Out  in  the  country,  close  by  the  roadside,  there  was  a 
country  house.  Close  by  it,  near  a  ditch,  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  beautiful  green  grass,  grew  a  little  Daisy. 
The  sun  shone  as  warmly  and  as  brightly  upon  it  as  on 
the  great,  splendid  garden  flowers,  and  so  it  grew  from 
hour  to  hour. 

And  the  Daisy  was  very  glad  that  everything  it 
silently  felt  was  sung  so  loudly  and  charmingly  by  the 
Lark. 


184  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  I  can  see  and  hear,"  it  thought:  "the  sun  shines  on 
me,  and  the  forest  kisses  me.  Oh,  how  richly  have  I 
been  gifted!" 

Within  the  palings  stood  many  stiff,  aristocratic 
flowers  —  the  less  scent  they  had  the  more  they  flaunted. 
They  did  not  notice  the  little  Daisy  outside  there,  but 
the  Daisy  looked  at  them  the  more,  and  thought,  "  How 
rich  and  beautiful  they  are!  Yes,  the  pretty  birds  fly 
across  to  them,  and  visit  them.  I  am  glad  that  I  stand 
so  near  them,  for  at  any  rate  I  can  enjoy  the  sight  of 
their  splendor!"  And  just  as  she  thought  that  — 
"  keevit!  "  —  down  came  flying  the  Lark,  but  not  down 
to  the  peonies  and  tulips  —  no,  down  into  the  grass  to 
the  lowly  Daisy,  which  started  so  with  joy  that  it  did 
not  know  what  to  think. 

The  bird  kissed  it  with  his  beak,  sang  to  it,  and  then 
flew  up  again  into  the  blue  air.  The  Daisy  felt  very 
grateful;  and  when  the  sun  went  down  it  folded  its 
leaves  and  went  to  sleep,  and  dreamed  all  night  long 
about  the  sun  and  the  pretty  little  bird. 

Next  morning,  when  the  flower  happily  stretched  out 
all  its  white  leaves,  like  little  arms,  toward  the  air  and 
the  light,  it  recognized  the  voice  of  the  bird,  but  the 
song  he  was  singing  sounded  mournfully.  Yes,  the  poor 
Lark  had  good  reason  to  be  sad;  he  was  caught  and  now 
sat  in  a  cage  close  by  the  open  window. 

The  little  Daisy  wished  very  much  to  help  him. 
But  what  was  it  to  do?  Yes,  that  was  difficult  to  make 
out.  It  quite  forgot  how  everything  was  beautiful 
around,  how  warm  the  sun  shone,  and  how  splendidly 
white  its  own  leaves  were.  Ah!  it  could  think  only  of 
the  imprisoned  bird,  and  how  it  was  powerless  to  do 
anything  for  him. 

Just  then  two  little  boys  came  out  of  the  garden. 
They  went  straight  up  to  the  little  Daisy,  which  could 
not  at  all  make  out  what  they  wanted. 

"  Here  we  may  cut  a  capital  piece  of  turf  for  the 
Lark,"  said  one  of  the  boys;  and  he  began  to  cut  off  a 
square  patch  round  about  the  Daisy,  so  that  the  flower 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  185 

remained  standing  in  its  piece  of  grass  and  was  put  into 
the  Lark's  cage. 

"  Here  is  no  water,"  said  the  captive  Lark.  "  They 
have  all  gone  out,  and  have  forgotten  to  give  me  any- 
thing to  drink.  My  throat  is  dry  and  burning.  It  is 
like  fire  and  ice  within  me,  and  the  air  is  close.  Oh,  I 
must  die!  I  must  leave  the  warm  sunshine,  the  fresh 
green,  and  all  the  splendor  that  God  has  created!  " 

And  then  he  thrust  his  beak  into  the  cool  turf  to  re- 
fresh himself  a  little  with  it.  Then  the  bird's  eye  fell 
upon  the  Daisy,  and  he  nodded  to  it,  and  kissed  it  with 
his  beak,  and  said: 

"  You  also  must  wither  in  here,  you  poor  little  fel- 
low. They  have  given  you  to  me  with  a  little  patch  of 
green  grass  on  which  you  grow,  instead  of  the  whole 
world  which  was  mine  out  there!  Every  little  blade  of 
grass  shall  be  a  great  tree  for  me,  and  every  one  of  your 
fragrant  leaves  a  great  flower." 

Then,  glowing  with  joy,  the  Daisy  unfolded  its  arms 
and  held  up  to  its  suffering  friend  —  a  drop  of  dew. 

Abridged  and  adapted.  Hans  Christian  Andersen,  1805-1875. 

THE  V-A-S-E 

From  the  madding  crowd  they  stand  apart, 
The  maidens  four  and  the  Work  of  Art; 

And  none  might  tell  from  sight  alone 
In  which  had  culture  ripest  grown,  — 

The  Gotham  Millions  fair  to  see, 
The  Philadelphia  Pedigree. 

The  Boston  Mind  of  azure  hue, 

Or  the  Soulful  Soul  from  Kalamazoo.  — 

For  all  loved  Art  in  a  seemly  way, 

With  an  earnest  soul  and  a  capital  A.  ... 

Long  they  worshipped;  but  no  one  broke 
The  sacred  stillness,  until  up  spoke 

The  Western  one  from  the  nameless  place, 
Who  blushing  said,  "  What  a  lovely  vace!" 

Over  three  faces  a  sad  smile  flew, 

And  they  edged  away  from  Kalamazoo. 


186  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

But  Gotham's  haughty  soul  was  stirred 
To  crush  the  stranger  with  one  small  word; 

Deftly  hiding  reproof  in  praise, 

She  cries,  "  'Tis,  indeed,  a  lovely  vaze!  " 

But  brief  her  unworthy  triumph  when 
The  lofty  one  from  the  home  of  Perm, 

With  the  consciousness  of  two  grandpapas, 
Exclaims,  "  It  is  quite  a  lovely  vahs!  " 

And  glances  round  with  an  anxious  thrill, 
Awaiting  the  word  of  Beacon  Hill. 

But  the  Boston  maid  smiles  courteouslee, 
And  gently  murmurs,  "  Oh,  pardon  me! 

"  I  did  not  catch  your  remark,  because 

I  was  so  entranced  with  that  charming  vaws!  " 

Dies  erit  praegelida  James  Jeffrey  Roche,  1847-1908. 

Sinistra  quum  Bostonia. 

NO 

"  P-o  Po,  p-o  po  Popo,  c-a-t  cat  Popocat  —  O  dear, 
what  a  hard  word!  Let  me  see,  Po-po-cat-a-petl.  I 
can  never  pronounce  it,  I  am  sure.  I  wish  they  would 
not  have  such  hard  names  in  geography,"  said  George 
Gould,  quite  out  of  patience.  "  Will  you  please  tell  me 
how  to  pronounce  the  name  of  this  mountain,  Father?  " 

"  Why,  do  you  call  that  a  hard  word  to  pronounce, 
George?  I  know  much  harder  words  than  that." 

"  Well,  Father,  this  is  the  hardest  word  I  ever  saw," 
replied  George. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  his  father.  "  Some  of  the 
hardest  words  I  have  ever  seen  are  the  shortest.  I 
know  one  little  word,  with  only  two  letters  in  it,  that 
very  few  children,  or  men  either,  can  always  speak." 

"  O,  I  suppose  it  is  some  French  or  German  word; 
isn't  it,  Father?  " 

"  The  hardest  word,"  replied  his  father,  "  I  have  ever 
met  with  in  any  language  —  and  I  have  learned  several 
—  is  a  little  word  of  two  letters  —  N-o,  No." 

"  I  can  always  say  it,  I  know  I  can,"  said  George  with 
much  confidence  —  "  No!  Why,  it  is  as  easy  to  say  it 
as  to  breathe." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  187 

"  Well,  George,  I  hope  you  will  always  find  it  as  easy 
to  pronounce  as  you  think  it  is  now,  and  be  able  to 
speak  it  when  you  ought  to." 

As  soon  as  the  school  was  out  the  next  day  the  boys 
all  ran  to  the  pond  —  some  to  try  the  ice,  and  others 
merely  to  see  it. 

"Come,  George,"  said  William  Green;  "now  we 
will  have  a  glorious  time  sliding." 

George  hesitated,  and  said  he  did  not  believe  it  was 
strong  enough,  for  it  had  been  frozen  over  only  one 
night. 

"  O,  come  on!"  said  another  boy:  "I  know  it  is 
strong  enough.  I  have  known  it  to  freeze  over  in  one 
night,  many  a  time,  so  it  would  bear:  haven't  you, 
John?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  John  Brown,  "  it  did  one  night 
last  winter;  and  it  wasn't  so  cold  as  it  was  last  night, 
either." 

But  George  still  hesitated,  for  his  father  had  for- 
bidden him  to  go  on  the  ice  without  special  permission. 

"  I  know  why  George  won't  go,"  said  John,  "  he's 
afraid  he  might  fall  down  and  hurt  himself."  —  "Or 
the  ice  might  crack,"  said  another;  "  and  the  noise 
would  frighten  him.  Perhaps  his  mother  might  not 
like  it."  —  "  He's  a  coward,  that's  the  reason  he  won't 
come." 

George  could  stand  this  no  longer,  for  he  was  rather 
proud  of  his  courage.  "  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  he;  and 
he  ran  to  the  pond,  and  was  the  first  one  on  the  ice. 
The  boys  enjoyed  the  sport  very  much;  running  and 
sliding,  and  trying  to  catch  one  another  on  its  smooth 
surface. 

More  boys  kept  coming  on  as  they  saw  the  sport,  and 
all  began  to  think  there  was  no  danger;  when  suddenly 
there  was  a  loud  cry,  "  The  ice  has  broken!  the  ice  has 
broken!"  And  sure  enough,  three  of  the  boys  had 
broken  through,  and  were  struggling  in  the  water;  and 
one  of  them  was  George. 

George's  father  and  mother  were  very  much  frightened 


188  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

when  he  was  brought  home,  and  they  learned  how  nar- 
rowly he  had  escaped  drowning.  But  they  were  so  re- 
joiced to  find  that  he  was  safe  that  they  did  not  ask  him 
how  he  came  to  go  on  the  ice,  until  after  tea.  When 
they  were  all  gathered  together  about  the  cheerful  fire, 
his  father  asked  him  how  he  came  to  disobey  his  positive 
command. 

George  said  he  did  not  want  to  go,  but  the  boys  made 
him. 

"  How  did  they  make  you?  Did  they  take  hold  of 
you,  and  drag  you  on?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  No,"  said  George,  "  but  they  all  wanted  me  to  go." 

"  When  they  asked  you,  why  didn't  you  say  '  No '?  " 

"  I  was  going  to;  but  they  called  me  a  coward,  and 
said  I  was  afraid  to  go;  and  I  couldn't  stand  that." 

"  And  so,"  said  his  father,  "  you  found  it  easier  to 
disobey  me,  and  run  the  risk  of  losing  your  life,  than  to 
say  that  little  word  you  thought  so  easy  last  night. 
You  could  not  say  '  No.' ' 

George  now  began  to  see  why  this  little  word  "  No  " 
was  so  hard  to  pronounce.     It  was  not  because  it  was 
so  long,  or  composed  of  such  difficult  sounds;   but  be- 
cause it  often  requires  so  much  real  courage  to  say  it  — 
to  say  "  No  "  when  one  is  tempted  to  do  wrong. 

Whenever  in  a^er-life  George  was  tempted  to  do 
wrong,  he  remembered  his  narrow  escape  from  drown- 
ing, and  the  importance  of  the  little  word  "  No."  The 
oftener  he  said  it  the  easier  it  became;  and  in  time  he 
could  say  it,  when  needed,  without  much  effort. 

Not  known. 
THE  IVY  GREEW 

O,  a  dainty  plant  is  the  ivy  green, 

That  creepeth  o'er  ruins  old! 
On  right  choice  food  are  his  meals,  I  ween, 

In  his  cell  so  lone  and  cold. 
The  wall  must  be  crumbled,  the  stone  decayed, 

To  pleasure  his  dainty  whim ; 
And  the  mouldering  dust  that  years  have  made 

Is  a  merry  meal  for  him. 

Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  plant  is  the  ivy  green. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  189 

Whole  ages  have  fled,  and  their  works  decayed, 

And  nations  have  scattered  been; 
But  the  stout  old  ivy  shall  never  fade 

From  its  hale  and  hearty  green. 
The  brave  old  plant  in  its  lonely  days 

Shall  fatten  upon  the  past; 
For  the  stateliest  building  man  can  raise 
Is  the  ivy's  food  at  last. 

Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  plant  is  the  ivy  green. 

Charles  Dickens,   1812-1870. 

THE  BEAR 

The  children  were  now  walking  hand  in  hand  through 
the  forest.  I  can  see  exactly  how  they  looked. 

Claude  was  lifting  Baby  Sister  in  order  to  carry  her 
across  a  muddy  place,  when  —  a  dreadful  thing  hap- 
pened ! 

Claude  saw  a  bear,  a  real  flesh  and  blood,  fur  and 
claws  bear!  He  was  coming  at  a  gentle  pace  through 
the  trees,  a  huge  bulk  of  grayish  black,  with  black 
muzzle  and  a  red,  red  tongue  lolling  between  two  jagged 
white  saws  of  teeth. 

Claude's  heart  bumped  against  his  ribs.  His  thin 
legs  shook  so  that  he  nearly  dropped  Baby  Sister. 
Was  the  Bad  Bear  come  to  eat  them  at  last? 

In  one  swift  glance  he  saw  the  only  chance  of  escape. 
A  log  floated  on  the  water  of  the  hollow,  one  end  almost 
touching  the  dry  ground,  the  other  against  a  tree. 

Baby  Sister  had  seen  the  bear  now.  She  was  sure 
that  it  was  the  Bad  Bear  corning  to  eat  her  because  she 
had  been  naughty.  She  clung  to  Claude,  trembling  so 
that  she  nearly  toppled  him  over,  and  wailed,  "Oh,  don't 
let  bear  eat  Baby!"  in  a  piteous  voice. 

How  poor  little  Claude  was  able  to  carry  that  fat 
and  frightened  baby  over  the  wet  log  is  hard  to  tell. 
But  he  did  it,  and  crawled  up  beside  her  on  a  low  branch. 
Yes,  the  bear  was  coming.  He  was  walking  on  the  log. 

"Mamma!  mamma!"  screamed  the  frightened  baby. 

"Look !  look ! "  cried  Claude ;  "  he's  caught  in  the  mud." 

Sure  enough,  the  bridge  sank  under  the  big  bear,  and 
there  he  was,  fast  in  the  mud.  He  heaved  and  plunged 


190  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

until  he  got  two  paws  upon  the  log,  but  he  could  do  no 
more.  He  stood  looking  at  the  children  with  a  sleepy 
and  gentle  stare. 

But  as  Claude  looked  at  his  mild  eyes,  a  wonderful 
thought  came  to  him.  Was  it  the  Bad  Bear? 

"Please,  sir,"  said  Claude,  "are  you  the  Good  Bear?" 
The  bear  grunted. 

"What,  sir?"  said  Claude  with  eager  politeness. 

"Ur-r-r!"  said  the  bear. 

"He  really  looks  like  the  circus  bear,"  thought  the 
little  boy  —  which  it  is  very  likely  he  did,  being  the 
circus  bear  himself.  He  had  escaped,  and  even  now 
was  being  looked  for  by  bands  of  men. 

"Please,  Mr.  Good  Bear,"  said  Claude,  "won't  you 
get  up  and  go  away?  " 

Never  a  word  answered  the  bear.  He  blinked  his 
eyes  and  that  was  all.  Sadly  Claude  took  out  his 
precious  cake. 

"If  you'll  please  go  away,  Mr.  Good  Bear,  I'll  give 
you  this,"  said  Claude.  "It  is  a  nice  cake.  I  was 
going  to  give  it  to  mamma  for  Christmas,  but  if  you'll 
let  us  get  by  I'll  throw  it  to  you.  Shall  I  throw  it, 
sir?" 

The  bear  grunted  and  reared  himself  on  his  hind  legs 
ready  to  catch.  Indeed,  this  was  one  of  his  most 
famous  tricks. 

Claude  raised  the  cake.  How  beautiful  it  looked 
with  all  that  white  candy  on  top!  He  was  five  years 
old  and  he  had  never  tasted  plum  cake!  He  couldn't 
let  it  all  go.  He  nibbled  one  wee  morsel  before  he  flung 
the  cake,  swift  and  true,  at  the  great  black  head. 

The  bear  swung  his  jaws  at  it  and  caught  it  cleverly. 
And,  as  if  he  wished  to  please  such  a  good  little  boy, 
he  made  a  vast  heave  and  splash,  trying  to  climb  out  of 
the  mud. 

In  vain !     He  was  held  tight. 

Up  to  this  moment  Baby  Sister  had  been  quiet;  now 
she  screamed  again. 

"It's  of  no  use,  Mr.  Good  Bear!"  said  Claude,  "you 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  191 

can't  help  it.  We'll  all  scream  together  for  folks  to 
come  and  help." 

The  bear  seemed  ready,  for  he  gave  a  tremendous 
howl.  Claude  screamed  his  loudest,  while  Baby  Sister 
yelled  like  a  steam  whistle. 

Again  and  again  Claude  shouted.  Baby  Sister  cried 
until  she  could  cry  no  more;  then  she  sobbed.  Had 
not  Claude  held  her,  she  must  have  tumbled  from  the 
tree. 

His  thin  arms  burned  with  the  strain.  He  knew 
Baby  Sister  would  never  walk  past  the  bear  of  which  he 
felt  now  no  fear.  It  did  not  enter  his  loyal  little  heart 
to  escape  without  her. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  keep  calling  for  help. 
His  voice  grew  faint,  and  tears  of  mingled  pain  and 
weariness  were  streaming  down  his  cheeks. 

Hark!  Away  to  the  left  rang  an  answer  to  his  call, 
and  dashing  through  the  wood  came  a  young  man  on 
horseback.  In  a  moment  the  lasso  at  his  saddle-bow 
whizzed  through  the  air  and  settled  upon  Mr.  Good 
Bear's  neck. 

"Oh,  please  don't  hurt  him!"  said  Claude.  "It's 
the  Good  Bear." 

Colonel  Ormond  was  close  behind.  He  rolled  up 
another  log  for  the  bear,  who  after  a  deal  of  struggling 
and  pulling  clambered  upon  it. 

Safe  on  the  shore,  the  bear  put  his  head  down  and 
followed  the  horses  like  a  dog.  Claude  called  out 
warmly,  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Good  Bear;  I  wish  you 
well,  sir." 

Later  in  the  day  he  told  Colonel  Ormond  the  whole 
story  and  heard  in  return  how  Mr.  Good  Bear  had  been 
sent  back  to  his  circus  home. 

"Was  he  lost?"  asked  Claude. 

"Yes,"  said  his  friend,  "he  was  lost  and  the  circus 
people  offered  a  reward  of  fifty  dollars  for  him.  We 
think  that  you  should  have  the  reward  and  here  it  is. 
He  might  have  done  a  great  deal  of  harm  if  it  had  not 
been  for  you." 


192  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"The  bear  wouldn't  hurt  anybody,"  said  Claude. 
"He  was  the  Good  Bear." 

Who  knows?  Perhaps  he  was.  Claude  is  busy 
gathering  walnuts  and  pecan -nuts  for  the  next  coming 
of  the  circus,  when  he  hopes  to  see  his  friend  and  present 
his  gifts. 

"Because  I  love  Mr.  Good  Bear!"  says  Claude. 

Abridged  Alice  French  (Octave  Thanet),  1850-      . 

"  ONE.  TWO,  THREE  " 

It  was  an  old,  old,  old,  old  lady 

And  a  boy  that  was  half-past  three, 
And  the  way  that  they  played  together 

Was  beautiful  to  see. 

She  couldn't  go  running  and  jumping, 

And  the  boy,  no  more  could  he; 
For  he  was  a  thin  little  fellow, 

With  a  thin  little  twisted  knee. 

They  sat  in  the  yellow  sunlight, 

Out  under  the  maple  tree, 
And  the  game  that  they  played  I'll  tell  you, 

Just  as  it  was  told  to  me. 

It  was  Hide-and-Go-Seek  they  were  playing, 
Though  you'd  never  have  known  it  to  be  — 

With  an  old,  old,  old  lady 

And  a  boy  with  a  twisted  knee. 

The  boy  would  bend  his  face  down 

On  his  little  sound  right  knee, 
And  he'd  guess  where  she  was  hiding, 

In  guesses  One,  Two,  Three. 

"  You  are  in  the  china  closet?  " 

He  would  cry  and  laugh  with  glee  — 
It  wasn't  the  china  closet 

But  he  still  had  Two  and  Three. 

"  You  are  up  in  Papa's  big  bed-room, 

In  the  chest  with  the  queer  old  key?  " 
And  she  said:   "  You  are  warm  and  warmer; 

But  you're  not  quite  right,"  said  she. 

"  It  can't  be  the  little  cupboard 

Where  Mamma's  things  used  to  be  — 
So  it  must  be  the  clothes-press,  Grandma." 

And  he  found  her  with  his  Three. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  193 

Then  she  covered  her  face  with  her  fingers, 
That  were  wrinkled  and  white  and  wee, 

And  she  guessed  where  the  boy  was  hiding, 
With  a  One  and  a  Two  and  a  Three. 

And  they  never  had  stirred  from  their  places 

Right  under  the  maple  tree  — 
This  old,  old,  old,  old  lady 

And  the  boy  with  the  lame  little  knee  — 
This  dear,  dear,  dear  old  lady 

And  the  boy  who  was  half -past  three. 

H.  C.  Bunner,  1855-1896. 

WHANG,  THE  MILLER 

Whang,  the  miller,  was  naturally  avaricious.  No- 
body loved  money  better  than  he,  or  respected  more 
those  who  had  it.  When  people  would  talk  in  com- 
pany of  a  rich  man,  Whang  would  say,  "  I  know  him 
very  well;  he  and  I  have  been  long  acquainted;  he  and 
I  are  intimate."  But  if  a  poor  man  was  ever  men- 
tioned, he  had  not  the  least  knowledge  of  the  man;  he 
might  be  very  well  for  aught  he  knew;  but  he  was  not 
fond  of  many  acquaintances,  and  loved  to  choose  his 
company. 

Whang,  however,  with  all  his  eagerness  for  riches, 
was  in  reality  poor.  He  had  nothing  but  the  profits  of 
his  mill  to  support  him.  But  though  these  were  small, 
they  were  certain.  So  long  as  his  mill  continued  to  run, 
he  was  sure  of  a  living ;  and  his  frugality  was  such,  that 
each  day  he  laid  by  some  money,  which  he  would  at  in- 
tervals count  and  contemplate  with  much  satisfaction. 
Yet  still  his  acquisitions  were  not  equal  to  his  desires. 
He  found  himself  merely  above  want,  whereas  he  de- 
sired to  be  rich. 

One  day,  as  he  was  indulging  these  wishes,  he  was  in- 
formed that  a  neighbor  of  his  had  found  a  pan  of  money 
under  ground,  having  dreamed  of  it  three  nights  in 
succession.  These  tidings  were  daggers  to  the  heart  of 
poor  Whang.  "  Here  am  I,"  says  he,  "  toiling  and 
moiling  from  morning  till  night  for  a  few  paltry  farth- 
ings, while  neighbor  Hunks  goes  quietly  to  bed  and 
dreams  himself  into  thousands  before  morning.  Oh, 


194  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

that  I  could  dream  like  him!  With  what  pleasure  I 
would  dig  around  the  pan!  How  slyly  would  I  carry  it 
home  —  not  even  my  wife  should  see  me !  And  then, 
oh,  the  pleasure  of  thrusting  one's  hand  into  a  heap  of 
gold  up  to  the  elbow!" 

Such  reflections  served  only  to  make  the  miller  un- 
happy. He  discontinued  his  former  industry,  becom- 
ing quite  disgusted  with  small  gains,  and  his  customers 
began  to  forsake  him.  Every  day  he  repeated  the 
wish,  and  every  night  laid  himself  down  in  order  to 
dream.  Fortune,  at  last,  however,  seemed  to  smile 
upon  his  distresses,  and  indulged  him  with  the  wished- 
for  vision. 

He  dreamed  that,  under  a  certain  part  of  the  found- 
ation of  his  mill,  there  was  concealed  a  monstrous  pan 
of  gold  and  diamonds,  buried  deep  in  the  ground  and 
covered  with  a  large,  flat  stone.  He  rose  up,  thanked 
the  stars  that  were  at  last  pleased  to  take  pity  on  his 
sufferings,  and  concealed  his  good  luck  from  every  per- 
son, —  as  is  usual  in  money  dreams,  —  in  order  to  have 
the  vision  repeated  the  two  succeeding  nights,  by  which 
he  should  be  certain  of  its  veracity.  His  wishes  in  this 
also  were  answered.  He  still  dreamed  of  the  same  pan 
of  money,  in  the  very  same  place. 

Now,  therefore,  it  was  beyond  doubt  that  he  was  to 
become  the  possessor  of  a  large  sum  of  money.  So 
getting  up  early  the  third  morning,  he  repaired,  alone, 
with  a  mattock  in  his  hand,  to  the  mill,  and  began  to  un- 
dermine that  part  of  the  wall  to  which  the  vision  di- 
rected. The  first  omen  of  success  that  he  met  was  a 
broken  mug.  Digging  still  deeper,  he  turned  up  a 
house  tile,  quite  new  and  entire.  At  last,  after  much 
digging,  he  came  to  the  broad,  flat  stone,  but  so  large 
that  it  was  beyond  one  man's  strength  to  remove  it. 

"  Here,"  cried  he,  in  raptures,  to  himself,  "  here  it  is! 
Under  this  stone  there  is  room  for  a  very  large  pan  of 
diamonds  indeed!  I  must  go  home  to  my  wife  and  tell 
her  the  whole  affair,  and  get  her  to  assist  me  in  turning 
it  up." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  195 

Away,  therefore,  he  went,  and  acquainted  his  wife 
with  every  circumstance  of  their  good  fortune.  Her 
delight  on  this  occasion  may  be  easily  imagined.  She 
flew  round  his  neck,  and  embraced  him  in  an  agony  of 
joy.  But  these  raptures,  however,  did  not  delay  their 
eagerness  to  know  the  exact  sum.  Returning  speedily 
together  to  the  place  where  Whang  had  been  digging, 
they  found  there,  not,  indeed,  the  expected  treasure,  but 
the  mill,  their  only  support,  undermined  and  fallen. 

Oliver  Goldsmith,  1728-1774. 
CLIFFORD,  THE  SHEPHERD  LORD 

"Now  who  is  he  that  bounds  with  joy 

On  Carrock's  side,  a  Shepherd-boy? 

No  thoughts  hath  he  but  thoughts  that  pass 

Light  as  the  wind  along  the  grass. 

Can  this  be  he  who  hither  came 

In  secret,  like  a  smothered  flame? 

O'er  whom  such  thankful  tears  were  shed 

For  shelter,  and  a  poor  man's  breadl 

God  loves  the  Child;   and  God  hath  willed 

That  those  dear  words  should  be  fulfilled, 

The  Lady's  words,  when  forced  away, 

The  last  she  to  her  Babe  did  say: 

'  My  own,  my  own,  thy  Fellow-guest 

I  may  not  be;   but  rest  thee,  rest, 

For  lowly  shepherd's  life  is  best!  ' 

Alas!  when  evil  men  are  strong, 
No  life  is  good,  no  pleasure  long. 
The  boy  must  part  from  Mosedale's  groves, 
And  leave  Blencathara's  rugged  coves;  .  .  . 
Must  vanish,  and  his  careless  cheer 
Be  turned  to  heaviness  and  fear. 

Give  Sir  Lancelot  Threlkeld  praise! 
Hear  it,  good  man,  old  in  days! 
Thou  tree  of  covert  and  of  rest 
For  this  young  bird  that  is  distrest; 
Among  thy  branches  safe  he  lay, 
And  he  was  free  to  sport  and  play, 
When  falcons  were  abroad  for  prey. 

A  recreant  harp,  that  sings  of  fear 
And  heaviness  in  Clifford's  ear! 
I  said,  when  evil  men  are  strong, 
No  life  is  good,  no  pleasure  long, 
A  weak  and  cowardly  untruth! 
Our  Clifford  was  a  happy  youth, 


196  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

And  thankful  through  a  weary  time. 
That  brought  him  up  to  manhood's  prime. 

Again  he  wanders  forth  at  will, 
And  tends  a  flock  from  hill  to  hill: 
His  garb  is  humble;   ne'er  was  seen 
Such  garb  with  such  a  noble  mien; 
Among  the  shepherd  grooms  no  mate 
Hath  he,  a  child  of  strength  and  state! 
Yet  lacks  not  friends  for  simple  glee, 
Nor  yet  for  higher  sympathy. 
To  his  side  the  fallow-deer 
Came,  and  rested  without  fear; 
The  eagle,  lord  of  land  and  sea,  .  .  . 
Moved  to  and  fro  for  his  delight. 
He  knew  the  rocks  which  angels  haunt 
Upon  the  mountains  visitant; 
He  hath  kenned  them  taking  wing: 
And  into  caves  where  faeries  sing 
He  hath  entered;   and  been  told 
By  voices  how  men  lived  of  old. 
Among  the  heavens  his  eye  can  see 
The  face  of  thing  that  is  to  be; 
And,  if  that  men  report  him  right, 
His  tongue  could  whisper  words  of  might. 

Now  another  day  is  come, 
Fitter  hope,  and  nobler  doom; 
He  hath  thrown  aside  his  crook, 
And  hath  buried  deep  his  book; 
Armor  rusting  in  his  halls 
On  the  blood  of  Clifford  calls;  — 
'  Quell  the  Scot,'  exclaims  the  lance  — 
Bear  me  to  the  heart  of  France, 
Is  the  longing  of  the  shield  — 
Tell  thy  name,  thou  trembling  field; 
Field  of  death  where'er  thou  be, 
Groan  thou  with  our  victory! 
Happy  day,  and  mighty  hour, 
When  our  Shepherd,  in  his  power, 
Mailed  and  horsed,  with  lance  and  sword, 
To  his  ancestors  restored, 
Like  a  reappearing  star, 
Like  a  glory  from  afar, 
First  shall  head  the  flock  of  war!  " 

Alas  I  the  impassioned  minstrel  did  not  know 

How,  by  Heaven's  grace  this  Clifford's  heart  was  framed, 

How  he,  long  forced  in  humble  walks  to  go, 

Was  softened  into  feeling,  soothed,  and  tamed. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  197 

Love  had  he  found  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie; 
His  daily  teachers  had  been  woods  and  rills, 
The  silence  that  is  in  the  starry  sky, 
The  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills. 

In  him  the  savage  virtue  of  the  race, 
Revenge,  and  all  ferocious  thoughts  were  dead; 
Nor  did  he  change;   but  kept  in  lofty  place 
The  wisdom  which  adversity  had  bred. 

Glad  were  the  vales,  and  every  cottage  hearth; 
The  Shepherd-lord  was  honored  more  and  more; 
And,  ages  after  he  was  laid  in  earth, 
"  The  good  Lord  Clifford  "  was  the  name  he  bore. 
"Song  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle."   William  Wordsworth,  1770-1850, 

THE  BAREFOOT  BOY 

Blessings  on  thee,  little  man,  barefoot  boy  with  cheek  of  tan! 
with  thy  turned-up  pantaloons,  and  thy  merry  whistled  tunes;  with 
thy  red  lip,  redder  still  kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill;  with  the 
sunshine  on  thy  face  through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace;  from  my 
heart  I  give  thee  joy,  —  I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy !  Prince  thou 
art,  —  the  grown-up  man  only  is  republican.  Let  the  million- 
dollared  ride!  Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side,  thou  hast  more  than 
he  can  buy  in  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye,  —  outward  sunshine,  inward 
joy:  blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy! 

O  for  boyhood's  painless  play,  sleep  that  wakes  in  laughing  day, 
health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules,  knowledge  never  learned  of 
schools,  of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase,  of  the  wild  flower's  time  and 
place,  flight  of  fowl  and  habitude  of  the  tenants  of  the  wood;  how 
the  tortoise  bears  his  shell,  how  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell,  and  the 
ground  mole  sinks  his  well;  how  the  robin  feeds  her  young,  how  the 
oriole's  nest  is  hung ;  where  the  whitest  lilies  blow,  where  the  freshest 
berries  grow,  where  the  ground  nut  trails  its  vine,  where  the  wood 
grape's  clusters  shine;  of  the  black  wasp's  cunning  way,  mason  of 
his  walls  of  clay,  and  the  architectural  plans  of  gray  hornet  artisans ! 
—  For,  eschewing  books  and  tasks,  nature  answers  all  he  asks;  hand 
in  hand  with  her  he  walks,  face  to  face  with  her  he  talks,  part  and 
parcel  of  her  joy,  —  blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy! 

O  for  boyhood's  time  of  June,  crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon, 
when  all  things  I  heard  or  saw,  me,  their  master,  waited  for.  I  was 
rich  in  flowers  and  trees,  humming-birds  and  honey-bees;  for  my 
sport  the  squirrel  played.  Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade;  for  my 
taste  the  blackberry  cone  purpled  over  hedge  and  stone;  laughed 
the  brook  for  my  delight  through  the  day  and  through  the  night, 
whispering  at  the  garden  wall,  talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall;  mine 
the  sand-rimmed  pickerel  pond,  mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond, 
mine  on  bending  orchard  trees,  apples  of  Hesperides!  Still  as  my 


198  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

horizon  grew,  larger  grew  my  riches  too,  all  the  world  I  saw  or  knew 
seemed  a  complex  Chinese  toy,  fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boy! 

O  for  festal  dainties  spread,  like  my  bowl  of  milk  and  bread,  — 
pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood,  on  the  door-stone  gray  and  rude! 
O'er  me,  like  a  regal  tent,  cloudy-ribbed,  the  sunset  bent,  purple- 
curtained,  fringed  with  gold,  looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold; 
while  for  music  came  the  play  of  the  pied  frog's  orchestra;  and,  to 
light  the  noisy  choir,  lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire.  I  was  monarch: 
pomp  and  joy  waited  on  the  barefoot  boy ! 

Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man,  live  and  laugh,  as  boyhood  can! 
though  the  flinty  slopes  be  hard,  stubble-speared  the  new-mown 
sward,  every  morn  shall  lead  thee  through  fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew; 
every  evening  from  thy  feet  shall  the  cool  wind  kiss  the  heat.  All 
too  soon  these  feet  must  hide  in  the  prison  cells  of  pride,  lose  the 
freedom  of  the  sod,  like  a  colt's  for  work  be  shod,  made  to  tread  the 
mills  of  toil,  up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil:  happy  if  their  track  be 
found  never  on  forbidden  ground;  happy  if  they  sink  not  in  quick 
and  treacherous  sands  of  sin.  Ah!  that  thou  couldst  know  thy  joy, 
ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy! 

John  Grecnlcaf  Whittier,  1807-1892. 

SUPPER  AT  THE  MILL 

Mother.     Well,  Frances. 

Frances.  Well,  good  mother,  how  are  you? 

M.     I'm  hearty,  lass,  but  warm;   the  weather's  warm; 
I  think  'tis  mostly  warm  on  market  days. 
I  met  with  George  behind  the  mill;   said  he, 
"  Mother,  go  in  and  rest  awhile." 

F.  Aye,  do, 

And  stay  to  supper;   put  your  basket  down. 

M.     Why,  now,  it  is  not  heavy. 

F.  Willie,  man, 

Get  up  and  kiss  your  grandma.     Heavy,  no! 
Some  call  good  churning  luck;   but,  luck  or  skill, 
Your  butter  mostly  comes  as  firm  and  sweet 
As  if  'twas  Christmas.     So  you  sold  it  all? 

M.     All  but  this  pat  that  I  put  by  for  George; 
He  always  liked  my  butter. 

F.  That  he  did. 

M.     And  has  your  speckled  hen  brought  off  her  brood? 

F.     Not  yet,  but  that  old  duck  I  told  you  of, 
She  hatched  eleven  out  of  twelve  to-day. 

Child.     And,  grandma,  they're  so  yellow. 

M.  Aye,  my  lad, 

Yellow  as  gold  —  yellow  as  Willie's  hair. 

C.     They're  all  mine,  grandma  —  father  says  they're  mine. 

M.     To  think  of  that! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  199 

F.     And  Willie  would  not  touch  them  —  no,  not  he; 
He  knows  that  father  would  be  angry  else. 

C.     But  I  want  one  to  play  with  —  Oh,  I  want 
A  little  yellow  duck  to  take  to  bed! 

M.     What!  would  you  rob  the  poor  old  mother,  then? 

F.  Now,  grandma,  if  you'll  hold  the  babe  awhile; 
'T  is  time  I  took  up  Willie  to  his  crib. 

[Exit  Frances.] 
[Enter  George.] 

George.     Well,  mother,  'tis  a  fortnight  now,  or  more, 
Since  I  set  eyes  on  you. 

M.  Aye,  George,  my  dear, 

I  reckon  you've  been  busy:  so  have  we. 

G.  And  how  does  father? 

M.  He  gets  through  his  work, 

But  he  grows  stiff,  a  little  stiff,  my  dear; 
He's  not  so  young,  you  know,  by  twenty  years, 
As  I  am  —  not  so  young  by  twenty  years, 
And  I'm  past  sixty. 

G.  Yet  he's  hale  and  stout, 

And  seems  to  take  a  pleasure  in  his  cows, 
And  a  pride,  too. 

M.  And  well  he  may,  my  dear. 

G.     Give  me  the  little  one,  he  tires  your  arm; 
He's  such  a  kicking,  crowing,  wakeful  rogue, 
He  almost  wears  our  lives  out  with  his  noise 
Just  at  day-dawning,  when  we  wish  to  sleep. 
What!  you  young  villain,  would  you  clench  your  fist 
In  father's  curls?  a  dusty  father,  sure, 
And  you're  as  clean  as  wax. 

Aye,  you  may  laugh; 
But  if  you  live  a  seven  years  more  or  so, 
These  hands  of  yours  will  all  be  brown  and  scratched 
With  climbing  after  nest-eggs.     They'll  go  down 
As  many  rat-holes  as  are  round  the  mere; 
And  you'll  love  mud,  all  manner  of  mud  and  dirt, 
As  your  father  did  afore  you,  and  you'll  wade 
After  young  water-birds;   and  you'll  get  bogged 
Setting  of  eel-traps,  and  you'll  spoil  your  clothes, 
And  come  home  torn  and  dripping:   then,  you  know, 
You'll  feel  the  stick  —  you'll  feel  the  stick,  my  lad! 
[Enter  Frances.] 

F.  You  should  not  talk  so  to  the  blessed  babe  — 
How  can  you,  George?  Why,  he  may  be  in  heaven 
Before  the  time  you  tell  of. 

M.  *  Look  at  him: 

So  earnest,  such  an  eager  pair  of  eyes! 
He  thrives,  my  dear. 

F,  Yes,  he  does! 


200  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

M.     Where  is  your  little  lass? 

F.  Your  daughter  came 
And  begged  her  of  us  for  a  week  or  so.   ... 

G.  But  Hannah  must  not  keep  our  Fanny  long  — 
She  spoils  her. 

M.  Ahl  folks  spoil  their  children  now; 

When  I  was  a  young  woman  'twas  not  so; 
We  made  our  children  fear  us,  made  them  work, 
Kept  them  in  order. 

G.  Were  not  proud  of  them  — 

Eh,  mother? 

M.  I  set  store  by  mine,  'tis  true. 

But  then  I  had  good  cause. 

G.  My  lad,  d'  ye  hear? 

Your  grandma  was  not  proud,  by  no  means  proud! 
She  never  spoilt  your  father  —  no,  not  she, 
Nor  ever  made  him  sing  at  harvest-home, 
Nor  at  the  forge,  nor  at  the  baker's  shop, 
Nor  to  the  doctor  while  she  lay  abed 
Sick,  and  he  crept  upstairs  to  share  her  broth. 

M.     Well,  well,  you  were  my  youngest,  and,  what  's  more, 
Your  father  loved  to  hear  you  sing  —  he  did, 
Although,  good  man,  he  could  not  tell  one  tune 
From  the  other. 

F.  No,  George  got  his  voice  from  you: 
Do  use  it,  George,  and  send  the  child  to  sleep. 

G.  What  must  I  sing? 

F.  The  ballad  of  the  man 
That  is  so  shy  he  cannot  speak  his  mind. 

G.  Aye,  of  the  purple  grapes  and  crimson  leaves; 
But,  mother,  put  your  shawl  and  bonnet  off. 

And,  Frances,  lass,  I  brought  some  cresses  in: 
Just  wash  them,  toast  the  bacon,  break  some  eggs, 
And  let's  to  supper  shortly. 

[Sings.] 

G.     Why,  you  young  rascal!  who  would  think  it,  now? 
No  sooner  do  I  stop  than  you  look  up. 
What  would  you  have  your  poor  old  father  do? 
'Twas  a  brave  song,  long-winded,  and  not  loud. 

M.     He  heard  the  bacon  sputter  on  the  fork, 
And  heard  his  mother's  step  across  the  floor. 

F.  My  dear,  just  lay  his  head  upon  your  arm, 
And  if  you'll  pace  and  sing  two  minutes  more, 
He  needs  must  sleep  —  his  eyes  are  full  of  sleep. 

G.  Do  you  sing,  mother. 

F.  Aye,  good  mother,  do; 

'T  is  long  since  we  have  heard  you. 

M.  Like  enough; 

I'm  an  old  woman,  and  the  girls  and  lads 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  201 

I  used  to  sing  to  sleep  o'ertop  me  now. 

G.     Sing  in  the  chimney  corner,  where  you  sit, 
And  I'll  pace  gently  with  the  little  one. 

Mother  sings.] 

F.     Asleep  at  last,  and  time  he  was,  indeed, 
Turn  back  the  cradle  quilt  and  lay  him  in; 
And,  mother,  will  you  please  to  draw  your  chair?  — 
The  supper 's  ready. 

Jean  Ingelow,  1830-1897. 

HIAWATHA'S  CHILDHOOD 

By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gumee,  by  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water, 
stood  the  wigwam  of  Nokomis,  daughter  of  the  Moon,  Nokomis. 
Dark  behind  it  rose  the  forest,  rose  the  black  and  gloomy  pine-trees, 
rose  the  firs  with  cones  upon  them;  bright  before  it  beat  the  water, 
beat  the  clear  and  sunny  water,  beat  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water. 

There  the  wrinkled  old  Nokomis  nursed  the  little  Hiawatha, 
rocked  him  in  his  linden  cradle,  bedded  soft  in  moss  and  rushes, 
safely  bound  with  reindeer  sinews;  stilled  his  fretful  wail  by  saying, 
"  hush!  the  Naked  Bear  will  hear  thee!  "  Lulled  him  into  slumber, 
singing,  "  Ewa-yea!  my  little  owlet!  who  is  this  that  lights  the  wig- 
wam? With  his  great  eyes  lights  the  wigwam?  Ewa-yea!  my  little 
owlet!  " 

Many  things  Nokomis  taught  him  of  the  stars  that  shine  in 
heaven;  showed  him  Ishkoodah,  the  comet,  Ishkoodah,  with  fiery 
tresses;  showed  the  Death-Dance  of  the  spirits,  warriors  with  their 
plumes  and  war-clubs,  flaring  far  away  to  northward  in  the  frosty 
nights  of  winter;  showed  the  broad,  white  road  in  heaven,  pathway 
of  the  ghosts,  the  shadows,  running  straight  across  the  heavens, 
crowded  with  the  ghosts,  the  shadows. 

At  the  door,  on  summer  evenings,  sat  the  little  Hiawatha;  heard 
the  whispering  of  the  pine-trees,  heard  the  lapping  of  the  water, 
sounds  of  music,  words  of  wonder;  "  Minnie- wawa!  "  said  the  pine- 
trees,  "  Mudway-aushka !  "  said  the  water. 

Saw  the  fire-fly,  Wah-wah-taysee,  flitting  through  the  dusk  of 
evening,  with  the  twinkle  of  its  candle,  lighting  up  the  brakes  and 
bushes,  and  he  sang  the  song  of  children,  sang  the  song  Nokomis 
taught  him:  "  Wah-wah-taysee,  little  fire-fly,  little,  flitting,  white- 
fire  insect,  little,  dancing,  white-fire  creature,  light  me  with  your 
little  candle,  ere  upon  my  bed  I  lay  me,  ere  in  sleep  I  close  my  eye- 
lids! " 

Saw  the  moon  rise  from  the  water  rippling,  rounding  from  the 
water,  saw  the  flecks  and  shadows  on  it,  whispered,  "  What  is  that, 
Nokomis?  "  and  the  good  Nokomis  answered:  "  once  a  warrior, 
very  angry,  seized  his  grandmother,  and  threw  her  up  into  the  sky 
at  midnight;  right  against  the  moon  he  threw  her;  'tis  her  body 
that  you  see  there." 


202  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Saw  the  rainbow  in  the  heaven,  in  the  eastern  sky,  the  rainbow, 
whispered,  "  What  is  that,  Nokomis?  "  And  the  good  Nokomis 
answered:  "  'Tis  the  heaven  of  flowers  you  see  there;  all  the  wild- 
flowers  of  the  forest,  all  the  lilies  of  the  prairie,  when  on  earth  they 
fade  and  perish,  blossom  in  that  heaven  above  us." 

When  he  heard  the  owls  at  midnight,  hooting,  laughing  in  the 
forest,  "  What  is  that?  "  he  cried,  in  terror;  "  what  is  that,"  he  said, 
"  Nokomis?  "  And  the  good  Nokomis  answered:  "  that  is  but  the 
owl  and  owlet,  talking  in  their  native  language,  talking,  scolding  at 
each  other." 

Then  the  little  Hiawatha  learned  of  every  bird  its  language, 
learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets,  how  they  built  their  nests 
in  summer,  where  they  hid  themselves  in  winter,  talked  with  them 
whene'er  he  met  them,  called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Chickens." 

Of  all  beasts  he  learned  the  language,  learned  their  names  and  all 
their  secrets,  how  the  beavers  built  their  lodges,  where  the  squirrels 
hid  their  acorns,  how  the  reindeer  ran  so  swiftly,  why  the  rabbit  was 
so  timid,  talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them,  called  them 
"  Hiawatha's  Brothers." 
From  "  The  Song  of  Hiawatha."  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  1807-1882. 

THERE  WAS  A  CHILD  WENT  FORTH 

There  was  a  child  went  forth  every  day; 
And  the  first  object  he  look'd  upon,  that  object  he  became; 
And  that  object  became  part  of  him  for  the  day,  or  a  certain  part  of 
the  day,  or  for  many  years,  or  stretching  cycles  of  years. 

The  early  lilacs  became  part  of  this  child, 

And  grass,  and  white  and  red  morning-glories,  and  white  and  red 
clover,  and  the  song  of  the  phcebe-bird, 

And  the  Third-month  lambs,  and  the  sow's  pink-faint  litter,  and  the 
mare's  foal,  and  the  cow's  calf, 

And  the  noisy  brood  of  the  barn-yard,  or  by  the  mire  of  the  pond- 
side, 

And  the  fish  suspending  themselves  so  curiously  below  there  —  and 
the  beautiful  curious  liquid, 

And  the  water-plants  with  their  graceful  flat  heads  —  all  became 
part  of  him. 

The  field-sprouts  of  Fourth-month  and  Fifth-month  became  part 

of  him; 
Winter-grain  sprouts,  and  those  of  the  light-yellow  corn,  and  the 

esculent  roots  of  the  garden, 
And  the  apple-trees  cover'd  with  blossoms,  and  the  fruit  afterward, 

and  wood-berries,  and  the  commonest  weeds  by  the  road; 
And  the  school-mistress  that  pass'd  on  her  way  to  the  school, 
And  the  friendly  boys  that  pass'd  —  and  the  quarrelsome  boys, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  203 

And  the  tidy  and  fresh-cheek'd  girls  —  and  the  barefoot  negro  boy 

and  girl, 

And  all  the  changes  of  city  and  country,  wherever  he  went.  .  . 
Vehicles,  teams,  the  heavy-plank'd  wharves  —  the  huge  crossing  at 

the  ferries, 
The  village  on  the  highland,  seen  from  afar  at  sunset  —  the  river 

between, 
Shadows,  aureola  and  mist,  the  light  falling  on  roofs  and  gables  of 

white  or  brown,  two  miles  off, 
The  schooner  near  by,  sleepily  dropping  down  the  tide  —  the  little 

boat  slack-tow'd  astern, 

The  hurrying  tumbling  waves,  quick-broken  crests,  slapping, 
The  strata  of  color'd  clouds,  the  long  bar  of  maroon-tint,  away  soli- 
tary by  itself  —  the  spread  of  purity,  it  lies  motionless  in, 
The  horizon's  edge,  the  flying  sea-crow,  the  fragrance  of  salt  marsh 

and  shore  mud; 
These  became  part  of  that  child  who  went  forth  every  day,  and  who 

now  goes,  and  will  always  go  forth  every  day. 

Walt  Whitman,  1819-1892. 

COMING  AND  GOING 

There  once  came  to  our  field  a  pair  of  birds  that  had 
never  built  a  nest  nor  seen  a  winter.  Oh,  how  beauti- 
ful was  everything!  The  fields  were  full  of  flowers,  and 
the  grass  was  growing  tall,  and  the  bees  were  humming 
everywhere.  Then  one  of  the  birds  fell  to  singing,  and 
the  other  bird  said:  "Who  told  you  to  sing?"  and  he 
answered:  "The  flowers  told  me,  and  the  bees  told  me, 
and  the  wind  and  leaves  told  me,  and  the  blue  sky 
told  me,  and  you  told  me  to  sing."  Then  his  mate 
answered:  "When  did  I  tell  you  to  sing?"  And  he 
said:  "Every  time  you  brought  in  tender  grass  for  the 
nest,  and  every  time  your  soft  wings  fluttered  off  again 
for  hair  and  feathers  to  line  the  nest."  Then  his  mate 
said:  "What  are  you  singing  about?"  And  he  an- 
swered: "I  am  singing  about  everything  and  nothing. 
It  is  because  I  am  so  happy  that  I  sing." 

By-and-by  five  little  speckled  eggs  were  in  the  nest, 
and  his  mate  said:  "Is  there  anything  in  all  the  world 
as  pretty  as  my  eggs?"  Then  they  both  looked  down 
on  some  people  that  were  passing  by,  and  pitied  them 
because  they  were  not  birds,  and  had  no  nests  with  eggs 


204  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

in  them!  Then  the  father-bird  sang  a  melancholy 
song  because  he  pitied  folks  that  had  no  nests,  but  had 
to  live  in  houses. 

In  a  week  or  two,  one  day,  when  the  father-bird 
came  home,  the  mother-bird  said:  "Oh,  what  do  you 
think  has  happened?"  "What?"  "One  of  my  eggs 
has  been  peeping  and  moving!"  Pretty  soon  another 
egg  moved  under  her  feathers,  and  then  another,  and 
another,  till  five  little  birds  were  born! 

Now  the  father-bird  sang  longer  and  louder  than 
ever.  The  mother-bird,  too,  wanted  to  sing,  but  she 
had  no  time,  and  so  she  turned  her  song  into  work.  So 
hungry  were  these  little  birds,  that  it  kept  both  parents 
feeding  them.  Away  each  one  flew.  The  moment  the 
little  birds  heard  their  wings  fluttering  again  among  the 
leaves,  five  yellow  mouths  flew  open  so  wide,  that 
nothing  could  be  seen  but  five  yellow  mouths! 

"  Can  anybody  be  happier?"  said  the  father-bird  to 
the  mother-bird.  "  We  will  live  in  this  tree  always, 
for  there  is  no  sorrow  here.  It  is  a  tree  that  always 
bears  joy." 

Soon  the  little  birds  were  big  enough  to  fly,  and  great 
was  their  parents'  joy  to  see  them  leave  the  nest  and 
sit  crumpled  up  upon  the  branches.  There  was  then  a 
great  time!  One  would  have  thought  the  two  old 
birds  were  two  French  dancing-masters  —  talking  and 
chattering,  and  scolding  the  little  birds,  to  make  them 
go  alone. 

At  last  they  flew  away  and  away,  and  found  their 
own  food  and  made  their  own  beds,  and  their  parents 
never  saw  them  any  more! 

Then  the  old  birds  sat  silent,  and  looked  at  each 
other  a  long  while.  At  last  the  mother-bird  said: 

"  Why  don't  you  sing?" 

And  he  answered:  "I  can't  sing  —  I  can  only  think 
and  think." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

"  I  am  thinking  how  everything  changes  —  the 
leaves  are  falling  down  from  off  this  tree,  and  soon 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  205 

there  will  be  no  roof  over  our  heads ;  the  flowers  are  all 
gone,  or  going;  last  night  there  was  a  frost;  almost  all 
the  birds  are  flown  away,  and  I  am  very  uneasy.  Some- 
thing calls  me,  and  I  feel  restless  as  if  I  would  fly  far 
away." 

"  Let  us  fly  away  together." 

Then  they  rose  silently,  and,  lifting  themselves  high 
up  in  the  air,  they  looked  to  the  North.  Far  away  they 
saw  the  snow  coming.  They  looked  to  the  South. 
There  they  saw  green  leaves!  All  day  they  flew,  and 
all  night  they  flew  and  flew,  till  they  found  a  land  where 
there  was  no  winter,  where  there  was  summer  all  the 
time;  where  flowers  always  blossom,  and  the  birds 
always  sing. 

Abridged  from  "  Norwood."  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  1813-1887. 


TO  WHOM  SHALL  WE  GIVE  THANKS? 

A  little  boy  had  sought  the  pump 

From  whence  the  sparkling  water  burst, 

And  drank  with  eager  joy  the  draught 
That  kindly  quenched  his  raging  thirst. 

Then  gracefully  he  touched  his  cap, 
"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Pump,"  he  said, 

"  For  this  nice  drink  you've  given  me." 
This  little  boy  had  been  well  bred. 

Then  said  the  Pump:    "  My  little  man, 

You're  welcome  to  what  I  have  done; 
But  I  am  not  the  one  to  thank, 

I  only  help  the  water  run." 
"  Oh,  then,"  the  little  fellow  said, 

(Polite  he  always  meant  to  be), 
"  Cold  water,  please  accept  my  thanks, 

You  have  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"  Ah!  "  said  Cold  Water,  "  don't  thank  me! 

For  up  the  hillside  lives  a  spring 
That  sends  me  forth  with  generous  hand 

To  gladden  every  living  thing." 
"  I'll  thank  the  spring,  then,"  said  the  boy, 

And  gracefully  he  bowed  his  head. 
"  Oh!  don't  thank  me,  my  little  man," 

The  spring  with  silvery  accents  said. 


206  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Oh,  don't  thank  me,  for  what  am  I 

Without  the  dews  and  summer  rain? 
Without  their  aid  I  ne'er  could  quench 

Your  thirst,  my  little  boy,  again." 
"  Oh,  well,  then,"  said  the  little  boy, 

"  I'll  gladly  thank  the  rain  and  dew." 
"  Pray,  don't  thank  us!     Without  the  sun 

We  could  not  fill  one  cup  for  you." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Sun,  ten  thousand  thanks 

For  all  that  you  have  done  for  me." 
"  Stop,"  said  the  Sun,  with  blushing  face, 

"  My  little  fellow,  don't  thank  me. 
'Twas  from  the  ocean's  mighty  stores 

I  drew  the  draught  I  gave  to  thee." 
"  O  Ocean,  thanks,"  then  said  the  boy. 

It  echoed  back:   "No  thanks  to  met 

"  Not  unto  me,  but  unto  Him 

Who  formed  the  depths  in  which  I  lie, 
Go  give  thy  thanks,  my  little  boy, 

To  Him  who  will  thy  wants  supply." 
The  boy  took  off  his  cap  and  said 

In  tones  so  gentle  and  subdued, 
"  O  God,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  gift. 

Thou  art  the  Giver  of  all  good." 

Not  known. 

ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN 

Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed,  near  to  the  nest  of  his  little 
dame,  over  the  mountain-side  or  mead,  Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling 
his  name:  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink,  spank,  spink;  snug  and 
safe  is  that  nest  of  ours,  hidden  among  the  summer  flowers,  chee, 
chee,  chee."  Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  dressed,  wearing  a  bright 
black  wedding  coat;  white  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest, 
hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note:  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink, 
spank,  spink;  look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine,  sure  there  was 
never  a  bird  so  fine,  chee,  chee,  chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife,  pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain 
brown  wings,  passing  at  home  a  patient  life,  broods  in  the  grass  while 
her  husband  sings:  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink,  spank,  spink; 
brood,  kind  creature;  you  need  not  fear  thieves  and  robbers  while  I 
am  here,  chee,  chee,  chee."  Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she,  one 
weak  chirp  is  her  only  note ;  braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat:  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
spink,  spank,  spink;  never  was  I  afraid  of  man;  catch  me,  cowardly 
knaves,  if  you  can,  chee,  chee,  chee." 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay,  flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight! 
there  as  the  mother  sits  all  day;  Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might: 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink,  spank,  spink;  nice  good  wife,  that 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  207 

never  goes  out,  keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about,  chee,  chee,  chee." 
Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell,  six  wide  mouths  are  open  for 
food;  Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well,  gathering  seed  for  the 
hungry  brood:  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink,  spank,  spink;  this 
new  life  is  likely  to  be  hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me,  chee,  chee, 
chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made  sober  with  work  and  silent 
with  care;  off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid,  half  forgotten  that  merry 
air,  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink,  spank,  spink;  nobody  knows 
but  my  mate  and  I  where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie,  chee,  chee, 
chee."  Summer  wanes;  the  children  are  grown;  fun  and  frolic  no 
more  he  knows;  Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  humdrum  crone;  off  he  flies, 
and  we  sing  as  he  goes:  "  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link,  spink,  spank, 
spink,  when  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain,  Robert  of  Lincoln, 
come  back  again,  chee,  chee,  chee." 

William  Cullen  Bryant,  1794-1878. 

IO  VICTIS 

I  sing  the  hymn  of  the  conquered,  who  fell  in  the  battle  of  life,  — 
The  hymn  of  the  wounded,  the  beaten,  who  died  overwhelmed  in  the 

strife; 

Not  the  jubilant  song  of  the  victors,  for  whom  the  resounding  acclaim 
Of  nations  was  lifted  in  chorus,  whose  brows  wore  the  chaplet  of  fame, 
But  the  hymn  of  the  low  and  the  humble,  the  weary,  the  broken  in 

heart, 
Who  strove  and  who  failed,  acting  bravely  a  silent  and  desperate 

part: 
Whose  youth  bore  no  flower  on  its  branches,  whose  hopes  burned  in 

ashes  away, 
From  whose  hand  slipped  the  prize  they  had  grasped  at,  who  stood 

at  the  dying  of  day 
With  the  wreck  of  their  life  all  around  them,  unpitied,  unheeded, 

alone, 
With  death  swooping  down  o'er  their  failure,  and  all  but  their  faith 

overthrown. 

While  the  voice  of  the  world  shouts  its  chorus,  —  its  paean  for  those 

who  have  won; 
While  the  trumpet  is  sounding  triumphant,  and  high  to  the  breeze 

and  the  sun 

Glad  banners  are  waving,  hands  clapping  and  hurrying  feet 
Thronging  after  the  laurel-crowned  victors,  I  stand  on  the  field  of 

defeat, 
In  the  shadow,  with  those  who  are  fallen,  and  wounded,  and  dying, 

and  there 
Chant  a  requiem  low,  place  my  hand  on  their  pain-knotted  brows, 

breathe  a  prayer, 
Hold  the  hand  that  is  helpless,  and  whisper:  "  They  only  the  victory 

win 


208  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Who  have  fought  the  good  fight  and  have  vanquished  the  demon  that 

tempts  us  within; 
Who  have  held  to  their  faith  unseduced  by  the  prize  that  the  world 

holds  on  high; 
Who  have  dared  for  a  high  cause  to  suffer,  resist,  fight,  —  if  need  be, 

to  die." 

Speak,  history!  who  are  life's  victors?     Unroll  thy  long  annals  and 

say, 
Are  they  those  whom  the  world  called  the  victors,  who  won  the 

success  of  the  day? 
The  martyrs  or  Nero?     The  Spartans,  who  fell  at  Thermopylae's 

tryst, 
Or  the  Persians  and  Xerxes?     His  judges  or  Socrates?     Pilate  —  or 

Christ? 

William  Wetmore  Story,  1819-1894. 

THE  MAGIC  RING 

There  was  once  a  king  so  honest  and  kind  and  true 
that  his  people  called  him  the  Good  Ruler. 

One  day  when  he  was  walking  in  the  fields,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  horns  and  the  tramping  feet  of  horses. 
Soon  he  saw  a  score  of  men  and  women,  and  a  great 
pack  of  dogs,  all  running  after  a  little  white  rabbit. 

The  timid  creature  ran  to  the  king  and  jumped  into 
his  arms.  "  Not  even  a  rabbit  which  comes  to  me  for 
help  shall  be  turned  away,"  said  the  king.  With  kind 
words,  he  soothed  the  trembling  animal.  Then  he  car- 
ried it  to  the  palace  and  ordered  his  servants  to  give  it 
the  best  of  care. 

That  night  a  woman,  tall  and  beautiful,  clad  in  white 
flowing  robes,  stood  before  him. 

"  I  am  Fairy  Truth,"  she  said.  "  I  was  the  rabbit 
whose  life  you  saved  to-day.  You  are  indeed  the  Good 
Ruler  and  I  shall  always  be  one  of  your  best  friends. 
You  may  ask  what  you  will,  and  I  will  grant  your 
wish." 

"  I  ask  nothing  for  myself,"  replied  the  king,  "  but  I 
have  an  only  son  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  all  else.  The 
greatest  wish  of  my  life  is  that  he  may  be  happy." 

"  Shall  I  make  him  the  handsomest  prince  in  the 
world?  "  asked  the  fairy. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  209 

"  No,"  answered  the  king,  "  I  will  not  ask  that.  He 
might  be  vain  of  his  good  looks  and  think  only  of  him- 
self." 

"  Would  you  like  your  son  to  be  the  richest  prince 
that  has  ever  lived?  " 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  riches,"  the  king  replied,  "  for  riches 
alone  cannot  make  him  happy." 

"  You  have  only  to  wish,"  said  the  fairy,  "  and  I  will 
give  him  greater  power  than  any  other  prince  in  the 
world." 

"Ah,  no,"  said  the  king,  "power  without  goodness 
will  not  bring  happiness.  Make  my  son  the  best  prince 
in  the  whole  world,  and  I  shall  be  content." 

"  There  is  no  better  gift  than  goodness,"  the  fairy 
answered,  "but  I  cannot  make  him  good;  that  he 
must  do  for  himself.  I  will  promise  to  watch  over 
him  and  help  him,  and  when  he  does  wrong,  I  will 
punish  him.  More,  I  cannot  do." 

Not  long  after,  the  good  king  died.  As  the  prince  sat 
grieving  in  his  room,  Fairy  Truth  stood  before  him  as 
she  had  once  stood  before  his  father. 

"  I  have  promised  to  be  your  best  friend,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  have  brought  you  a  magic  ring.  It  will  prick 
your  ringer  every  time  you  do  wrong.  Heed  its  touch 
and  you  will  be  happy." 

For  a  long  time  the  prince  ruled  his  kingdom  with 
justice  and  kindness,  and  he  hardly  felt  the  touch  of 
the  ring  upon  his  finger.  Every  one  loved  him,  and  he 
was  called  Happy  Prince  Charming. 

But  at  length  evil  companions  came  and  offered  him 
all  kinds  of  pleasure.  "  A  prince  should  do  as  he  pleases 
without  punishment,"  they  said.  And  because  he  did 
not  like  to  be  laughed  at,  he  listened  to  the  young  men 
who  wished  him  to  do  wrong. 

The  ring  pricked  his  finger  again  and  again  until  at 
last  he  threw  it  away  in  anger.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  I 
shall  be  happy  once  more,  for  I  can  do  as  I  please." 
From  this  time  on  he  grew  more  wicked  and  became 
more  unhappy  day  by  day.  No  one  loved  him,  and 
even  his  bad  companions  cared  only  for  his  money. 


210  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

One  day  he  saw  a  poor  young  girl  picking  up  sticks 
for  a  fire.  The  prince  saw  that  she  was  very  beautiful, 
and  he  asked  her  to  be  the  queen  of  his  country.  But 
to  his  surprise  she  refused  to  go  with  him  to  the  palace. 

"Why  will  you  not  go  with  me?"  he  asked. 

"Because  you  are  not  like  your  father,  the  Good 
Ruler,"  answered  the  young  girl.  "I  do  not  wish  to 
be  your  queen,  for  you  are  a  wicked  man,  and  you 
would  make  me  unhappy." 

The  angry  prince  called  his  soldiers,  and  commanded 
them  to  put  the  girl  into  prison.  No  sooner  was  this 
done  than  the  prince  heard  a  noise  like  a  clap  of  thunder. 
Fairy  Truth  stood  again  before  him,  no  longer  gentle 
and  kind,  but  stern  and  terrible. 

"Prince,"  she  said  in  a  voice  to  which  he  listened 
with  fear,  "I  promised  your  father  to  punish  you  if 
you  failed  to  do  right.  You  have  been  as  fierce  as  a 
lion,  and  as  cruel  as  a  bear.  Your  body  shall  look  like 
your  soul  all  the  rest  of  your  life." 

Suddenly  the  prince  found  himself  in  a  forest  by  the 
bank  of  a  river.  He  heard  a  voice  saying,  "Look  in 
the  water,  and  you  will  see  what  wrong-doing  has  done 
to  your  soul." 

The  prince  looked  and  saw  a  fierce  and  ugly  beast. 
With  a  terrible  cry  of  anger  he  ran  into  the  forest. 
But  he  soon  fell  into  a  trap,  and  the  hunters  put  him 
into  a  strong  iron  cage  and  took  him  to  his  own  city. 

There  he  saw  crowds  of  people  in  the  street.  All 
were  rejoicing  because  they  had  been  told  that  their 
wicked  prince  was  dead.  Then  he  heard  the  voice  of 
his  old  teacher  speaking  to  the  people.  "The  prince 
has  a  good  heart,"  he  was  saying.  "I  do  not  believe 
that  he  is  dead.  He  will  some  time  return  and  will  be 
as  wise  a  ruler  as  his  father  was  before  him." 

Then  the  people  placed  the  crown  on  the  head  of  the 
old  man  and  begged  him  to  be  their  king.  "I  will 
wear  the  crown,"  he  said,  "and  govern  the  kingdom 
until  the  prince  returns." 

These  words  made  the  prince  sorry  for  his  evil  deeds, 
and  he  became  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  But  his  keeper  was 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  211 

a  hard  and  cruel  man,  who  beat  and  nearly  starved  all 
the  animals  in  his  care. 

One  day  a  tiger  escaped  from  his  cage  and  was  about 
to  spring  upon  this  cruel  keeper  as  he  lay  asleep.  At 
first  the  prince  was  glad,  but  a  better  thought  came 
into  his  mind,  and  he  wished  he  were  free  to  save  the 
helpless  man.  No  sooner  had  he  felt  this  kind  wish 
than  the  doors  of  his  cage  opened  wide.  He  sprang  out 
and  killed  the  tiger  and  thus  saved  the  keeper's  life. 

Then  a  voice  was  heard  to  say,  "A  good  deed  is  al- 
ways rewarded,"  and  the  prince  found  that  he  had 
taken  the  form  of  a  little  white  dog.  How  he  rejoiced 
because  he  was  free  from  the  shape  of  a  fierce  wild 
beast ! 

The  keeper  carried  the  beautiful  dog  to  the  palace, 
and  now  he  was  petted  and  praised  and  cared  for. 
But  the  queen,  wishing  to  keep  her  pet  dog  from  grow- 
ing larger,  gave  him  nothing  to  eat  except  a  little  bread. 

One  morning  when  he  received  his  crust  of  bread  for 
breakfast,  he  ran  with  it  to  the  palace  gardens.  By 
the  wayside  he  saw  a  little  child  almost  dead  with 
hunger. 

"Poor  thing,"  he  thought,  "I  know  what  it  is  to  be 
hungry.  I  will  give  her  my  bread."  So  he  ran  to  her 
and  laid  the  bread  at  her  feet.  Again  he  heard  a  voice 
say,  "A  good  deed  is  always  rewarded."  And  oh, 
wonderful!  He  was  no  longer  a  dog,  but  a  beautiful 
dove  with  white  wings. 

Then  his  first  thought  was  to  find  the  young  girl 
whom  he  had  put  in  prison.  Day  after  day  he  flew 
many  weary  miles  in  his  search.  At  last  he  found  her 
in  a  desert  cave,  talking  with  an  old  man.  He  flew  into 
the  cave  and  perched  upon  her  shoulder. 

"My  beautiful  dove,"  said  the  maiden,  "stay  with 
me,  and  I  will  love  you  always." 

The  dove  vanished,  and  Prince  Charming  was  again 
a  man,  handsome  and  tall,  with  a  face  as  kind  as  when 
he  was  a  happy  boy.  The  old  man,  too,  disappeared, 
and  in  his  place  stood  Fairy  Truth  in  her  pure  white 
robes. 


212  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"My  children,"  said  the  fairy,  "I  now  give  back  to 
Prince  Charming  the  crown  that  he  has  become  good 
enough  to  wear.  And  I  will  restore  to  him  his  kingdom, 
for  he  is  at  last  wise  enough  to  govern  it." 

She  had  hardly  finished  speaking  when  Prince  Charm- 
ing found  himself  standing  in  his  own  palace  with  his 
chosen  queen  by  his  side.  The  crown  was  placed  upon 
his  head,  and  all  the  people  shouted,  "Long  live  the 
King!  Long  live  the  King!" 

For  many  years  Prince  Charming  ruled  his  kingdom 
with  justice  and  wisdom.  It  is  said  that  he  always 
wore  the  magic  ring,  and  that  it  never  again  had  reason 
to  prick  his  finger. 

And  it  is  also  said  that  the  Prince  never  grew  old  in 
looks,  but  that  year  by  year,  as  he  became  more  wise 
and  kind,  his  face  became  more  beautiful. 

Dinah  Mulock  Crailc,  1826-1887. 

MR.  BULL-PROG'S  PARTY 

Mr.  Bull-Frog  gave  a  party  and  bade  his  friends  to  feast,  from  the 
lower  world  and  the  upper,  fish,  insect,  bird  and  beast.  The  table 
was  spread  by  the  river  on  a  gently  sloping  ground;  guests  ran  to 
the  water,  if  ever  they  heard  an  alarming  sound.  The  minnows 
came  by  the  dozens;  the  turtles  came  one  by  one;  the  frogs  brought 
their  aunts  and  cousins;  but  the  water-rat  came  alone.  Each  guest 
had  his  seat  allotted  —  birds,  butterflies,  one,  two,  and  three;  and  a 
little  field  mouse  trotted  to  her  place  by  the  side  of  the  bee.  They 
ate  every  cress  and  berry  and  they  drank  their  dew-drop  tea  to  the 
health  of  their  host,  with  merry  and  rousing  three-times-three. 

Soon  after  this  demonstration  the  Bull- Frog  rose  for  a  speech: 
"  We  will  hold  a  consultation;  I  should  like  to  hear  from  each.  By 
enemies  we're  surrounded;  (my  friends,  you  feel  this  is  true)  we  are 
caught,  crushed,  lamed,  and  pounded.  To  stop  this  what  can  we 
do?  Life  would  be  perfect  without  them  (these  creatures  are  all 
called  boys) ;  there's  but  one  good  thing  about  them  —  their  coming 
is  known  by  their  noise.  My  friends  we'll  all  sign  a  paper  with  fin, 
antenna,  or  wing,  to  get  us  out  of  the  scrape  or  these  boys  to  sorrow 
we'll  bring.  We'll  bite,  scratch,  worry  and  sting  them  when  we've 
a  chance  so  to  do;  and  thus  to  sorrow  we'll  bring  them.  Now 
friends  I'll  listen  to  you." 

Mistress  Mousie  spoke;  "  Remember  that  all  boys  are  not  so  bad. 
One  whom  I  knew  last  September  to  hurt  would  make  me  quite  sad. 
One  of  my  distant  relations  he  did,  I  confess,  just  seize  while  he  made 
some  observations  but  he  gave  him  lots  of  cheese.  In  twenty-four 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  213 

hours  he  hurried  to  open  the  cage  door  wide  and  Mousie  home  to  his 
worried  mamma  and  family  hied." 

Miss  Mousie  ceased,  and  Bumble-Bee  rose  with  a  hum  and  a  buzz: 
"  I  speak  for  myself  and  friend,"  said  he,  "  Friend  Caterpillar  —  Miss 
Fuzz.  With  eagerness  he  has  sought  us  but  never  has  hurt  us  at  all 
—  I've  only  said  '  Hum  '  when  he  caught  us,  while  Fuzz  rolled  up 
in  a  ball." 

Then  up  rose  a  gay  grass-hopper,  so  fine  in  his  green  dress-coat, 
"  for  others  I  care  not  a  copper  on  this  boy  I  really  dote.  Through 
all  the  bright  summer  weather,  through  all  the  sunny  days  long  we 
played  in  the  grass  together  and  he  never  stopped  my  song." 

When  Dorr-Bug  knocked  on  the  table,  Father  Longlegs  left  his 
seat;  to  speak  he  was  quite  unable  but  showed  all  his  legs  complete. 
So  Bull-Frog  told  the  story  for  his  venerable  guest,  adding  his  mite 
to  the  glory  of  this  boy  of  boys  the  best. 

A  gray  moth  rose;  "  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  Pray  list  to  this  plan 
of  mine;  on  the  right  day,  next  Februar-ee,  we'll  send  him  a  Valen- 
tine. And  it  shall  say  —  if  he  takes  care  to  injure  no  living  thing  — 
all  beasts  and  birds  of  earth  and  air  will  join  in  one  offering." 

'Twas  settled.  The  supper  was  ended;  the  creatures  went  home- 
ward with  glee.  The  way  I  heard  it  was  splendid  —  a  little  bird 
told  it  to  me. 

Not  known. 
THE  SWALLOWS 

Gallant  and  gay  in  their  doublets  gray, 

All  at  a  flash  like  the  darting  of  flame, 
Chattering  Arabic,  African,  Indian  — 

Certain  of  springtime,  the  swallows  came ! 

Doublets  of  gray  silk  and  surcoats  of  purple, 
And  ruffs  of  russet  round  each  little  throat, 

Wearing  such  garb  they  had  crossed  the  waters, 
Mariners  sailing  with  never  a  boat. 

Sir  Edwin  Arnold,  1832-1904. 

HOW  THE  CLIFF  WAS  CLAD 

Between  two  cliffs  lay  a  deep  ravine,  with  a  full 
stream  rolling  heavily  through  it  over  bowlders  and 
rough  ground.  It  was  high  and  steep,  and  one  side  was 
bare,  save  at  the  foot,  where  clustered  a  thick,  fresh 
wood,  so  close  to  the  stream  that  the  mist  from  the 
water  lay  upon  the  foliage  in  spring  and  autumn.  The 
trees  stood  looking  upwards  and  forwards,  unable  to 
move  either  way. 

"What  if  we  were  to  clothe  the  Cliff?"  said  the 
Juniper  one  day  to  the  foreign  Oak  that  stood  next 


214  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

him.  The  Oak  looked  down  to  find  out  who  was  speak- 
ing, and  then  looked  up  again  without  answering  a 
word.  The  Stream  worked  so  hard  that  it  grew  white; 
the  Northwind  rushed  through  the  ravine,  and  shrieked 
in  the  fissures,  and  the  bare  Cliff  hung  heavily  over  and 
felt  cold. 

"What  if  we  were  to  clothe  the  Cliff?"  said  the 
Juniper  to  the  Fir  on  the  other  side. 

"Well,  if  anybody  is  to  do  it,  I  suppose  we  must,"  re- 
plied the  Fir,  stroking  his  beard;  "what  dost  thou 
think?"  he  added,  looking  over  to  the  Birch. 

"Let  us  clothe  it,"  answered  the  Birch,  glancing 
timidly  towards  the  Cliff.  And  thus,  although  they 
were  but  three,  they  agreed  to  clothe  the  Cliff.  The 
Juniper  went  first. 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  way  they  met  the  Heather. 
The  Juniper  seemed  as  though  he  meant  to  pass  her 
by.  "Nay,  let  us  take  the  Heather  with  us,"  said  the 
Fir.  So  on  went  the  Heather.  Soon  the  Juniper  be- 
gan to  slip.  "Lay  hold  on  me,"  said  the  Heather. 
The  Juniper  did  so,  and  where  there  was  only  a  little 
crevice  the  Heather  put  in  one  finger,  and  where  she  had 
got  in  one  ringer  the  Juniper  put  in  his  whole  hand. 
They  crawled  and  climbed,  the  Fir,  heavily,  behind 
with  the  Birch.  "It  is  a  work  of  charity,"  said  the 
Birch. 

But  the  Cliff  began  to  ponder  what  little  things  these 
could  be  that  came  clambering  up  it.  And  when  it 
had  thought  over  this  a  few  hundred  years,  it  sent 
down  a  little  Brook  to  see  about  it.  It  was  just  spring 
flood,  and  the  Brook  rushed  on  till  she  met  the  Heather. 

"Dear,  dear  Heather,  canst  thou  not  let  me  pass?  I 
am  so  little,"  said  the  Brook.  The  Heather,  being  very 
busy,  only  raised  herself  a  little,  and  worked  on.  The 
Brook  slipped  under  her,  and  ran  onwards. 

"Dear,  dear  Juniper,  canst  thou  not  let  me  pass?  I 
am  so  little,"  said  the  Brook.  The  Juniper  glanced 
sharply  at  her;  but  as  the  Heather  had  let  her  pass,  he 
thought  he  might  do  so  as  well,  The  Brook  slipped 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  215 

under  him,  and  ran  on  till  she  came  where  the  Fir  stood 
panting  on  a  crag. 

"Dear,  dear  Fir,  canst  thou  not  let  me  pass?  I  am 
so  little,"  the  Brook  said,  fondly  kissing  the  Fir  on  his 
foot.  The  Fir  felt  bashful  and  let  her  pass.  But  the 
Birch  made  way  before  the  Brook  asked. 

"He,  he,  he,"  laughed  the  Brook,  as  she  grew  larger. 
"Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  Brook  again,  pushing 
Heather  and  Juniper,  Fir  and  Birch  forwards  and  back- 
wards, up  and  down  on  the  great  crags.  The  Cliff  sat 
for  many  hundred  years  after,  pondering  whether  it  did 
not  smile  a  little  that  day. 

It  was  clear  the  Cliff  did  not  wish  to  be  clad.  The 
Heather  felt  so  vexed  that  she  turned  green  again,  and 
then  she  went  on.  "Never  mind;  take  courage!"  said 
the  Heather. 

The  Juniper  sat  up  to  look  at  the  Heather,  and  at 
last  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  clutched  so  firmly,  that  he 
thought  the  Cliff  could  not  help  feeling  it.  "  If  thou 
wilt  not  take  me,  then  I  will  take  thee,"  said  he. 

The  Fir  examined  the  path  he  had  come,  then  where 
he  had  been  lying,  and  at  last  where  he  had  to  go. 

Then  he  strode  onwards,  just  as  though  he  had  never 
fallen.  The  Birch  had  been  splashed  very  badly,  but 
now  she  got  up  and  made  herself  tidy.  And  so  they 
went  rapidly  on,  upwards  and  sideways,  in  sunshine 
and  rain. 

"  But  what  in  the  world  is  all  this?  "  said  the  Cliff, 
when  the  summer  sun  shone,  the  dewdrops  glittered,  the 
birds  sang,  the  wood  mouse  squeaked,  the  hare  bounded, 
and  the  weasel  hid  and  screamed  among  the  trees. 

Then  the  day  came  when  the  Heather  could  peep  over 
the  Cliff's  edge.  "O  dear  me!"  said  she,  and  over  she 
went. 

"  What  is  it  the  Heather  sees,  dear?"  said  the  Juniper, 
and  came  forwards  till  he,  too,  could  peep  over.  "  Dear 
me!  "  he  cried,  and  over  he  went. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  Juniper  to-day?  "  said 
the  Fir,  taking  long  strides  in  the  hot  sun.  Soon  he, 


216  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

too,  by  standing  on  tiptoe  could  peep  over.  "Ah!"  — 
every  branch  and  prickle  stood  on  end  with  astonish- 
ment. He  strode  onwards,  and  over  he  went. 

"  What  is  it  they  all  see  and  not  I?"  said  the  Birch, 
lifting  up  her  skirts,  and  tripping  after.  "Ah!"  said 
she,  putting  her  head  over,  "there  is  a  whole  forest, 
both  of  Fir  and  Heather,  and  Juniper  and  Birch,  wait- 
ing for  us  on  the  plain;"  and  her  leaves  trembled  in  the 
sunshine  till  the  dewdrops  fell. 

"  This  comes  of  reaching  forwards,"  said  the  Juniper. 

From  "  Arne."  Bjornstjerne  Bjornsbn,  1832-1910. 

SOWING 
Every  one  is  sowing 

Both  by  word  and  deed; 
All  mankind  are  growing 

Either  wheat  or  weed; 
Thoughtless  ones  are  throwing 

Any  sort  of  seed. 

Serious  ones  are  seeking 

Seed  already  sown; 
Many  eyes  are  weeping 

Now  the  crop  is  grown; 
Think  upon  the  reaping  — 

Each  one  reaps  his  own. 

Surely  as  the  sowing 

Shall  the  harvest  be; 
See  what  you  are  throwing 

Over  hill  and  lea; 
Words  and  deeds  are  growing 

For  eternity. 

Not  known. 

TO  THE  SMALL  CELANDINE 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies,  let  them  live  upon  their  praises; 
long  as  there's  a  sun  that  sets,  primroses  will  have  their  glory;  long 
as  there  are  violets,  they  will  have  a  place  in  story:  there's  a  flower 
that  shall  be  mine,  'tis  the  little  Celandine.  Eyes  of  some  men  travel 
far  for  the  finding  of  a  star;  up  and  down  the  heavens  they  go,  men 
that  keep  a  mighty  rout!  I  'm  as  great  as  they,  I  trow,  since  the 
day  I  found  thee  out,  little  flower  —  I'll  make  a  stir,  like  a  sage 
astronomer. 

Modest,  yet  withal  an  elf  bold,  and  lavish  of  thyself;  since  we 
needs  must  first  have  met  I  have  seen  thee,  high  and  low,  thirty 
years  or  more,  and  yet  'twas  a  face  I  did  not  know;  thou  hast  now, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  217 

go  where  I  may,  fifty  greetings  in  a  day.  Ere  a  leaf  is  on  a  bush,  in 
the  time  before  the  thrush  has  a  thought  about  her  nest,  thou  wilt 
come  with  half  a  call,  spreading  out  thy  glossy  breast  like  a  careless 
Prodigal;  telling  tales  about  the  sun,  when  we've  little  warmth,  or 
none. 

Poets,  vain  men  in  their  mood!  travel  with  the  multitude:  never 
heed  them;  I  aver  that  they  all  are  wanton  wooers;  but  the  thrifty 
cottager,  who  stirs  little  out  of  doors,  joys  to  spy  thee  near  her  home; 
spring  is  coming,  thou  art  come !  Comfort  have  thou  of  thy  merit, 
kindly,  unassuming  Spirit!  Careless  of  thy  neighborhood,  thou  dost 
show  thy  pleasant  face  on  the  moor,  and  in  the  wood,  in  the  lane;  — 
there's  not  a  place,  howsoever  mean  it  be,  but  'tis  good  enough  for 
thee. 

Ill  befall  the  yellow  flowers,  children  of  the  flaring  hours!  Butter- 
cups, that  will  be  seen,  whether  we  will  see  or  no;  others,  too,  of 
lofty  mien;  they  have  done  as  wordlings  do,  taken  praise  that  should 
be  thine,  little,  humble  Celandine.  Prophet  of  delight  and  mirth, 
ill-requited  upon  earth;  herald  of  a  mighty  band,  of  a  joyous  train 
ensuing,  serving  at  my  heart's  command,  tasks  that  are  no  tasks 
renewing,  I  will  sing,  as  doth  behove,  hymns  in  praise  of  what  I  love ! 

William  Wordsworth,  1770-1850. 

A  FAREWELL 
My  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song  to  give  you, 

No  lark  could  pipe  to  skies  so  dull  and  gray. 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  one  lesson  I  can  leave  you 

For  every  day: 

Be  good,  sweet  maid, 

And  let  who  will  be  clever; 
Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long; 

And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  forever, 
One  grand  sweet  song. 

Charles  Kingsley,  1819-1875. 

DOUGLAS  AND  JAMES 

Then  clamour'd  loud  the  royal  train,  and  brandish'd  swords  and 
staves  amain.  But  stern  the  Baron's  warning —  "  Back!  back,  on 
your  lives,  ye  menial  pack!  Beware  the  Douglas.  —  Yes!  behold, 
King  James!  the  Douglas,  doom'd  of  old,  and  vainly  sought  for  near 
and  far,  a  victim  to  atone  the  war,  a  willing  victim,  now  attends, 
nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends."  — 

"  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid?  presumptuous  lord!  "  the  monarch 
said;  "  of  thy  misproud  ambitious  clan,  thou,  James  of  Bothwell, 
wert  the  man,  the  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe  my  woman-mercy  would 
not  know:  but  shall  a  Monarch's  presence  brook  injurious  blow,  and 
haughty  look?  —  What  ho!  the  Captain  of  our  Guard!  give  the 
offender  fitting  ward,  —  break  off  the  sports!  "  —  for  tumult  rose, 
and  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows,  —  "  Break  off  the  sports! " 


218  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

he  said,  and  frown'd,  "  and  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 
Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray  marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 
The  horsemen  prick'd  among  the  crowd  repell'd  by  threats  and  in- 
sults loud;  to  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak,  the  timorous  fly, 
the  women  shriek;  with  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar,  the 
hardier  urge  tumultuous  war.  At  once  'round  Douglas  darkly  sweep 
the  royal  spears  in  circle  deep,  and  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep; 
while  on  the  rear  in  thunder  pour  the  rabble  with  disordered  roar. 
With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw  the  Commons  rise  against  the  law, 
and  to  the  leading  soldier  said,  —  "Sir  John  of  Hyndford!  'twas  my 
blade  that  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid;  for  that  good  deed,  per- 
mit me  then  a  word  with  these  misguided  men. 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends!  ere  yet  for  me  ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty. 
My  life,  my  honour,  and  my  cause,  I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 
Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require  the  aid  of  your  misguided  ire.  Or, 
if  I  suffer  causeless  wrong,  is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong,  my  sense 
of  public  weal  so  low,  that,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe,  those  cords 
of  love  I  should  unbind,  which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind?  Oh 
no!  Believe,  in  yonder  tower  it  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour,  to 
know  those  spears  our  foes  should  dread,  for  me,  in  kindred  gore  are 
red;  to  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun  for  me,  that  mother  wails  her 
son;  for  me,  that  widow's  mate  expires;  for  me,  that  orphans  weep 
their  sires:  that  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws;  and  curse  the  Doug- 
las for  the  cause.  O  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill,  and  keep  your 
right  to  love  me  still!  " 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again  in  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in 
rain.  With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  pray'd  for  blessings  on  his 
generous  head,  who  for  his  country  felt  alone,  and  prized  her  blood 
beyond  his  own.  Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life,  bless'd  him  who 
staid  the  civil  strife;  and  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high,  the  self- 
devoted  Chief  to  spy,  triumphant  over  wrongs  and  ire,  to  whom  the 
prattlers  owed  a  sire:  even  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved;  as 
if  behind  some  bier  beloved,  with  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head, 
the  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led,  and  at  the  Castle's  battled  verge  with 
sighs  resign 'd  his  honour 'd  charge. 
From  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake."  Sir  Walter  Scott,  1771-1832. 

HENRY  AT  AGJNCOURT 
Gloucester.     Where  is  the  King? 

Bedford.     The  King  himself  is  rode  to  view  their  battle. 
Westmoreland.     Of  fighting  men  they  have  full  three  score  thousand. 
Exeter.     There's  five  to  one;   besides,  they  all  are  fresh. 
Salisbury.     God's  arm  strike  with  us!    'tis  a  fearful  odds. 

God  b'  wi'  you,  princes  all;    I  '11  to  my  charge: 

If  we  no  more  meet  till  we  meet  in  Heaven, 

Then,  joyfully,  my  noble  Lord  of  Bedford, 

My  dear  Lord  Gloucester,  and  my  good  Lord  Exeter, 

And  my  kind  kinsman,  warriors  all,  adieu! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  219 

Bed.     Farewell,  good  Salisbury;  and  good  luck  go  with  thee! 
Ex.     Farewell,  kind  lord;   fight  valiantly  to-day; 
And  yet  I  do  thee  wrong  to  mind  thee  of  it, 
For  thou  art  fram'd  of  the  firm  truth  of  valour. 
Bed.     He  is  as  full  of  valour  as  of  kindness: 

Princely  in  both. 

[Enter  the  King.] 
West.     O  that  we  now  had  here 

But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England 

That  do  no  work  to-day! 
King  Henry.     What's  he  that  wishes  so? 

My  cousin  Westmoreland!     No,  my  fair  cousin, 

If  we  are  marked  to  die,  we  are  enow 

To  do  our  country  loss;   and  if  to  live, 

The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honor; 

Heaven's  will!  I  pray  thee  wish  not  one  man  more. 

In  truth  I  am  not  covetous  of  gold, 

Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost; 

It  yearns  me  not  if  men  my  garments  wear; 

Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires: 

But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 

I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive. 

No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England: 

God's  peace!  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honor 

As  one  man  more  methinks  would  share  from  me, 

For  the  best  hope  I  have.     O,  do  not  wish  one  more: 

Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my  host, 

That  he  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 

Let  him  depart,  his  passport  shall  be  made, 

And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse: 

We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company 

That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 

This  day  is  called  the  feast  of  Crispian: 

He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 

Will  stand  on  tiptoe  when  this  day  is  named, 

And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 

He  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 

Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  neighbours, 

And  say  "  To-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian." 

Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve  and  show  his  scars, 

And  say  "  These  wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day." 

Old  men  forget;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot, 

But  he'll  remember  with  advantages 

What  feats  he  did  that  day:  then  shall  our  names, 

Familiar  in  his  mouth  as  household  words, 

Harry  the  King,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloucester, 

Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remember'd. 

This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son; 


220  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remember'd; 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers; 
For  he  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me 
Shall  be  my  brother;   be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 
This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition: 
And  gentlemen  in  England  now  a-bed 
Shall  think  themselves  accurs'd  they  were  not  here, 
And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap  whiles  any  speaks 
That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispin's  day. 
"  King  Henry  Fifth,"  Act  IV.,  Sc.  III.  William  Shakespeare,  1564-1616. 

THE  JUDGE'S  DEBT 

About  three  hundred  years  ago,  there  were  two  little 
boys  at  a  famous  school  in  London,  called  Westminster 
School.  Their  names  were  Nicholas  and  Wake,  and 
although  they  were  quite  different  in  character,  they 
were  great  friends. 

Nicholas  was  a  shy,  timid  boy.  He  was  also  very 
idle,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he  did  not  always  speak  the 
truth.  Wake,  on  the  other  hand,  was  as  upright  and 
honest  as  the  day,  and  although  he  was  full  of  fun  and 
mischief,  he  always  owned  up  if  he  did  anything  wrong. 

One  day,  when  the  boys  were  all  seated  at  their  desks 
in  the  great  hall  of  the  school,  the  master  left  the  room 
for  a  few  minutes.  As  soon  as  his  back  was  turned, 
the  boys  began  to  play  pranks. 

The  hall  was  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  heavy  cur- 
tain, and,  as  Nicholas  was  passing  this  curtain,  he  gave  it 
a  tug.  He  did  not  pull  it  very  hard,  but  the  curtain 
was  old,  and,  to  his  horror,  a  great  rent  appeared  in  it. 

He  turned  quite  white  with  terror,  for  the  master 
was  a  harsh  man,  and  Nicholas  knew  that  he  would  be 
punished  severely  if  he  were  found  out.  The  rest  of  the 
boys  crowded  round  him,  trying  to  hide  the  damage 
that  had  been  done.  At  last  they  arranged  the  folds  of 
the  curtain,  so  that  the  rent  was  hidden,  and  then  they 
crept  back  in  silence  to  their  seats. 

Perhaps  the  stillness  made  the  master  think  that 
something  had  happened,  for  as  soon  as  he  came  back,  he 
looked  around  him,  and  his  eye  fell  on  the  ruffled  cur- 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  221 

tain.  He  went  up  to  it  and  shook  it,  and  in  a  moment 
he  saw  the  great  tear. 

In  a  stern  voice  he  asked  the  boy  who  had  done  the 
mischief  to  stand  up.  But  no  one  moved.  Every  boy 
sat  still  in  his  place;  no  one  spoke.  Then  he  began  to 
ask  each  boy  in  turn  if  he  had  been  the  culprit. 

When  it  came  to  Nicholas's  turn  to  be  asked,  his 
tongue  seemed  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He 
would  fain  have  told  the  truth,  but  his  courage  failed  him. 

"  I  did  not  do  it,"  he  muttered.  The  master  passed 
on,  and  he  was  left  sitting,  trembling  and  miserable, 
knowing  that  all  his  school-fellows  knew  that  he  had 
told  an  untruth. 

Wake  was  sitting  not  far  off.  Nicholas  was  his 
friend,  and  he  determined  to  shield  him.  For  he  knew 
that  if  the  master  found  out  that  Nicholas  had  both 
told  a  lie,  and  torn  the  curtain,  he  would  not  only  be 
flogged,  but  he  would  be  turned  out  of  the  school  as  well. 

So,  when  Wake  was  asked,  he  remained  silent,  and 
the  master  thought  that  he  was  guilty.  He  ordered 
him  to  come  into  the  middle  of  the  hall,  and  gave  him 
a  good  flogging  in  the  sight  of  all  his  school-fellows. 

When  it  was  over,  Wake  went  back  to  his  seat.  His 
face  was  flushed,  and  his  hands  clenched,  but  he  felt 
very  happy.  He  had  by  his  generous  action  saved 
his  friend  from  the  evil  result  of  his  wrong-doing.  As 
for  the  flogging  —  well,  a  flogging  did  not  so  much  matter. 

But,  as  you  may  fancy,  Nicholas  felt  very  wretched. 
He  knew  that  he  was  a  coward,  and  he  knew  that  all 
the  other  boys  knew  it  too.  In  the  playground,  he 
noticed  how  they  shunned  him,  and  whispered  to  one 
another  as  he  passed;  while  they  carried  Wake  round 
the  school  on  their  shoulders,  to  show  him  what  they 
thought  of  him. 

Nicholas  crept  away  to  his  room,  and  there  Wake 
found  him,  crying  bitterly.  "Oh  Wake!"  he  sobbed, 
"  I  will  never,  never  forget  what  you  have  done.  You 
have  saved  me,  for  my  father  would  have  driven  me 
from  home  if  I  had  been  turned  out  of  the  school.  I 


222  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

will  try  to  grow  more  like  you,  and  one  day,  if  I  live,  I 
will  repay  you." 

Forty  years  passed  away,  and  the  two  little  West- 
minster scholars  had  long  since  lost  sight  of  each  other. 
Their  ways  in  life  lay  far  apart.  England  was  divided 
into  two  parties.  The  Royalists  had  been  defeated,  and 
the  king,  Charles  I.,  had  been  put  to  death.  The 
Roundheads  were  in  power,  and  Oliver  Cromwell  was 
ruler  of  England. 

Nicholas  had  become  a  great  lawyer,  and,  as  he  was  a 
Roundhead,  he  had  been  made  a  judge.  Wake,  who 
had  always  been  fond  of  fighting,  had  become  a  soldier. 
He  was  an  officer  in  the  Royalist  army. 

He  had  been  defeated  in  a  battle  in  the  west  of  Eng- 
land, and,  along  with  other  officers,  he  was  put  in  Exeter 
prison  to  be  tried  for  treason.  The  punishment  for 
treason  was  death. 

The  day  of  the  trial  came  on,  and  the  judge  whom 
Cromwell  sent  down  from  London  was  Judge  Nicholas. 
He  looked  very  grand  and  solemn,  as  he  sat  on  a  raised 
platform,  wearing  his  white  wig,  and  his  scarlet  robes 
trimmed  with  ermine.  Very  worn  and  weary  were  the 
poor,  mud-stained  soldiers,  who  were  led  in  to  receive 
their  sentence. 

Their  names  were  read  out.  It  was  noticed  that  the 
judge  started  when  he  heard  the  name  of  Colonel  Wake. 
But  he  had  to  do  his  duty.  The  men  before  him  were 
guilty,  and  he  sentenced  them  to  death.  They  were  to 
be  shot  in  four  days. 

But  when  the  trial  was  over,  and  the  men  had  been 
led  back  to  their  cells,  the  judge  hurried  to  his  room. 
His  servant  wondered  to  see  him  throw  off  his  scarlet 
robes,  and  toss  aside  his  wig.  He  threw  down  a  hand- 
ful of  silver  on  the  table. 

"  Fetch  me  meat  and  drink,"  he  said,  "  and  then  go 
out  and  get  me  a  horse.  And,  mark  you,  let  it  be  the 
swiftest  horse  in  Exeter." 

Two  hours  later,  a  rider  booted  and  spurred,  galloped 
out  of  the  old  town,  and  turned  his  horse's  head  towards 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  223 

London.  The  watchman  at  the  gate  looked  at  him  as 
he  passed,  but  he  <\id  not  know  the  stately  judge,  who 
had  sat  all  day  in  the  town-hall,  robed  in  scarlet  and 
ermine.  And  yet  it  was  he,  riding  for  dear  life,  to  save 
the  life  of  his  friend. 

On  and  on  he  rode.  All  through  that  night,  through 
the  next  day,  and  through  the  next  night,  he  went  as 
fast  as  horse  could  gallop.  He  stopped  only  three 
times,  and  each  time  it  was  to  get  a  fresh  horse.  All 
the  way  he  repeated  one  sentence  over  and  over  again: 
"Let  me  be  in  time;  only  let  me  be  in  time." 

He  arrived  in  London  in  the  morning,  and  went 
straight  to  the  great  ruler's  house.  Cromwell  stared  as 
the  mud-stained  rider  was  shown  into  his  room. 

"It  is  Judge  Nicholas,"  he  said  in  surprise.  "What 
has  caused  your  worship  to  ride  in  such  haste?  " 

"  I  have  an  old  debt  to  pay,"  said  the  judge,  "  and  I 
come  to  you  to  ask  liberty  to  pay  it."  Then  he  told  the 
story  of  the  torn  curtain,  and  how  Wake  had  shielded 
him  from  blame. 

"  It  was  not  only  the  flogging  that  he  saved  me  from, 
my  lord,"  he  went  on.  "  He  set  me  an  example,  and  he 
made  me  think.  I  saw  the  difference  between  a  coward 
and  a  brave  boy.  I  determined  from  that  day  that  I 
would  never  tell  another  lie,  and,  thank  God,  I  have 
succeeded.  Whatever  good  there  is  in  me  to-day  is  due 
to  my  friend's  example. 

"  And  now,  unless  your  lordship  pardons  him,  he  must 
die  in  two  days  —  or  I  must.  For  if  you  cannot  grant 
his  pardon,  at  least  grant  me  leave  to  suffer  in  his 
stead." 

The  tears  stood  in  Cromwell's  eyes.  Without  a 
word  he  took  pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  out  a  free  pardon. 
"Take  it,"  he  said,  handing  it  to  the  judge.  "In  such  a 
matter  as  this,  I  cannot  refuse  you." 

Once  more  Judge  Nicholas  flung  himself  on  his  horse's 
back,  and  galloped  away.  He  forgot  how  stiff  his 
limbs  were,  and  how  tired  he  was.  For  had  he  not  the 
precious  paper  safe  inside  his  coat? 


224  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

When  he  arrived  in  Exeter,  he  lost  no  time  in  going 
to  the  prison,  and  demanding  to  be  taken  to  Colonel 
Wake's  cell.  You  can  fancy  how  the  condemned  man 
looked  at  him,  wondering,  as  Cromwell  had  done,  what 
his  visitor  wanted. 

But  he  soon  found  out.  Pulling  the  pardon  from  his 
pocket,  the  judge  handed  it  to  him,  and  then,  with  a 
sob,  he  flung  his  arms  round  the  soldier's  neck.  "  You 
have  forgotten  me,"  he  said,  "and  I  deserve  to  be  for- 
gotten. But  I  have  never  forgotten  you,  or  what  you 
did  for  me,  and,  thank  God,  I  have  been  able  to  keep 
the  promise  that  I  made  long  ago  at  Westminster  School." 

Not  known. 

JUNE 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking: 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking; 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 
And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays: 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen, 
We  hear  life  murmur,  or  see  it  glisten; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers; 
The  flush  of  life  may  well  be  seen 

Thrilling  back  over  hills  and  valleys; 
The  cowslip  startles  in  meadows  green, 

The  buttercup  catches  the  sun  in  its  chalice, 
And  there's  never  a  leaf  nor  a  blade  too  mean 

To  be  some  happy  creature's  palace; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 

Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 

With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives; 
His  mate  feels  the  eggs  beneath  her  wings, 
And  the  heart  in  her  dumb  breast  flutters  and  sings; 
He  sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest, 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best? 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  225 

Now  is  the  high  tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer, 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it; 
We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'  Tis  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell; 
We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  knowing 
That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing; 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 
That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are  flowing, 
That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack; 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing,  — 
And  hark!  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 
Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing! 
From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."  James  Russell  Lowell,  1819-1891. 

CHANTICLEER 

A  poor  widow,  who  was  somewhat  old,  lived  in  a  small 
cottage.  She  had  a  yard,  enclosed  all  about  with  sticks, 
and  in  it  a  rooster,  named  Chanticleer.  In  all  the  land 
of  crowing  there  was  not  his  equal.  This  gentle  rooster 
had  under  his  care  several  hens,  of  which  the  fairest  was 
called  Dame  Pertelote. 

And  so  it  happened  that  once  at  daybreak,  as  Chanti- 
cleer sat  on  his  perch  among  all  his  hens,  with  Pertelote 
beside  him,  he  began  to  groan  as  a  man  that  is  greatly 
troubled  in  his  sleep.  And  when  Pertelote  heard  him 
groan,  she  was  frightened,  and  said: 

"Oh,  dear  heart,  what  ails  you  to  groan  in  this  manner? 
Are  you  a  good  sleeper?  —  for  shame!  " 

And  he  answered  and  spoke  thus:  "Madame,  I  pray 
you  not  to  misunderstand  me.  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
in  such  distress  right  now,  that  even  yet  my  heart  is 
sorely  frightened.  Now  pay  attention  to  my  dream, 


226  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

and  keep  my  body  out  of  foul  capture.  I  dreamed  that 
I  was  roaming  up  and  down  within  our  yard,  when  I  saw 
a  beast  that  was  like  a  hound,  and  that  would  have 
pounced  on  my  body  and  would  have  made  me  dead. 
His  color  was  between  yellow  and  red,  and  his  tail  and 
both  his  ears  were  tipped  with  black,  unlike  the  rest  of 
his  hairs;  his  nose  was  small,  with  two  glowing  eyes. 
Yet  from  his  look  I  almost  die  in  fear  —  doubtless  it  was 
this  which  caused  my  groaning." 

"Go  away!"  quoth  she.  "Fie  on  you,  heartless  one! 
Alas,  you  have  now  lost  my  heart  and  all  my  love ;  I  can 
not  love  a  coward,  by  my  faith.  For  as  any  woman 
would  say,  we  all  desire,  if  it  may  be,  to  have  husbands 
trusty,  hardy  and  wise.  How  dared  you,  for  shame, 
say  to  your  love  that  anything  could  make  you  afraid? 
Are  you  a  bird,  and  have  you  no  man's  heart?  Alas, 
and  can  you  be  afraid  of  dreams?  Nothing,  God  knows, 
but  vanity  is  in  dreams.  Dreams  come  from  ill  health, 
and  now,  sir,"  said  she,  "  take  some  medicine.  I  shall 
myself  teach  you  the  herbs  that  will  be  good  for  you, 
and  I  shall  find  them  in  the  yard.  Pick  them  up  right 
as  they  grow,  and  eat  them;  be  merry,  husband,  for 
your  father's  honor.  Dread  no  dream,  I  can  say  no 
more." 

"Madame  Pertelote,"  quoth  he,  "when  I  see  the 
beauty  of  your  face  it  makes  all  my  dread  to  depart. 
And  when  at  night  I  feel  your  soft  side,  I  am  so  full  of 
joy  and  comfort  that  I  defy  both  vision  and  dream." 

And  with  that  word  he  flew  down  from  the  perch,  for 
it  was  day;  and  so  did  all  his  hens.  And  he  began  to 
call  them,  saying,  "cluck,"  for  he  had  found  a  grain  of 
corn  that  lay  in  the  yard. 

A  fox,  full  of  sly  iniquity,  that  had  lived  in  the  grove 
for  three  years,  the  same  night  burst  through  the  hedges 
into  the  yard  where  Chanticleer  and  his  hens  were  wont 
to  go,  and  in  a  bed  of  worts  he  lay  still,  waiting  for  his 
time  to  fall  upon  Chanticleer.  O  Chanticleer!  accursed 
be  the  day  that  thou  flewest  into  that  yard.  Thou  wast 
well  warned  by  thy  dreams  that  this  day  was  perilous 
to  thec. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  227 

Bathing  in  the  sand  lay  fair  Pertelote,  and  all  her 
sisters  by  her  in  the  sun,  and  Chanticleer  sang  merrier 
than  the  mermaid  in  the  sea.  And  it  so  chanced  that 
as  he  cast  his  eye  among  the  worts  after  a  butterfly,  he 
was  aware  of  this  fox  that  lay  very  low.  Then  he  did 
not  want  to  crow,  but  he  cried,  "  Cok,  cok!"  and  up  he 
started,  as  a  man  that  was  afraid  in  his  heart.  For 
naturally  a  man  desires  to  flee  from  his  enemy,  if  he  may 
see  it  —  though  he  never  before  has  seen  it  with  his  eye. 

Chanticleer,  when  he  began  to  see  him,  would  have 
fled,  had  not  the  fox  at  once  said,  "  Gentle  sir,  alas, 
where  are  you  going?  Truly  the  cause  of  my  coming 
was  only  to  hear  how  you  sing.  My  lord  your  father 
(may  God  bless  his  soul!)  and  also  your  mother,  have 
been  in  my  house,  and  indeed,  sir,  I  would  fain  please 
you.  But  to  speak  of  singing,  I  will  say  that  I  never 
heard  a  man  sing  as  did  your  father  in  the  morning.  It 
was  out  of  his  heart,  all  that  he  said,  and  to  make  his 
voice  the  more  strong,  he  would  cry  so  loud  that  he  had 
to  wink  with  both  his  eyes,  and  would  stand  on  his  tip- 
toes at  the  same  time  and  stretch  forth  his  neck  long 
and  small.  Let's  see,  can  you  imitate  your  father?  " 

On  this,  Chanticleer  began  to  beat  his  wings  as  a  man 
that  could  not  espy  treason,  he  was  so  ravished  with 
flattery.  This  Chanticleer  stood  high  upon  his  toes, 
stretching  his  neck,  and  held  his  eyes  closed,  and  began 
to  crow  loud  at  once;  and  down  the  fox  started  and  by 
the  throat  seized  Chanticleer,  and  bore  him  toward  the 
wood  on  his  back. 

But  nobly  Dame  Pertelote  screamed.  Then  the 
widow  and  her  two  daughters  heard  the  hens  scream  and 
make  woe,  and  out  the  doors  they  started  at  once,  and 
saw  the  fox  going  toward  the  grove  and  on  his  back  bear- 
ing the  rooster  away.  And  they  cried,  "Out!  Harrow! 
Ha,  ha!  the  fox!"  and  after  him  they  ran,  and  also  many 
a  man  with  staves.  There  ran  Colle,  our  dog,  and  our 
cow  and  calf,  and  even  the  very  hogs,  they  were  so  afraid 
of  the  dog's  barking,  and  the  shouting  of  the  men  and 
women;  they  ran  so  they  thought  their  heart  would 
break.  The  duck  cried  so  men  would  stop  them;  the 


228  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

geese  flew  over  the  trees  in  fear ;  the  swarm  of  bees  came 
out  of  the  hive,  so  hideous  was  the  noise.  They  brought 
beams  of  briers  and  box,  of  horn  and  of  bone,  into  which 
they  blew  and  puffed,  and  they  shrieked  and  whooped 
with  them. 

Now  look  how  fortune  turns  suddenly  the  hope  and 
pride  of  her  enemy.  This  rooster  that  lay  upon  the 
fox's  back,  in  all  his  dread,  spoke  unto  the  fox  and  said: 

"Sir,  if  I  were  you,  then  I  should  say,  'Turn  again,  all 
you  proud  churls,  a  very  pestilence  is  falling  on  you. 
Now  that  I  am  come  to  this  side  of  the  wood,  in  spite  of 
your  pains  the  rooster  will  remain  here;  I  will  eat  him, 
in  faith,  and  that  at  once.'" 

The  fox  answered,  "In  faith,  it  shall  be  done,"  and  as 
he  spoke  that  word,  suddenly  the  rooster  broke  from  his 
mouth,  and  at  once  flew  high  upon  a  tree. 

And  when  the  fox  saw  that  he  was  gone,  "Alas,"  he 
said,  "O  Chanticleer,  I  have  done  you  a  wrong  in  making 
you  afraid,  when  I  caught  you  and  brought  you  out  of 
the  yard.  But  sir,  I  did  it  in  no  wicked  design.  Come 
down,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  meant.  I  shall  tell  you 
the  truth,  God  help  me  so." 

"Nay,  then,"  said  Chanticleer,  "I  curse  us  both,  and 
I  curse  first  myself,  blood  and  bones,  if  thou  beguile  me 
more  than  once.  No  more,  through  thy  flattery  shalt 
thou  make  me  to  sing  and  wink  my  eye.  For  he  that 
winks  wilfully  where  he  should  see,  God  leave  him  never 
to  thee." 

"Nay,"  quoth  the  fox,  "but  God  give  him  misfortune 
that  is  so  indiscreet  that  he  jangles  when  he  should  hold 
his  peace." 

Adapted  from  "  The  Nun's  Priests  Tale."  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  1340P-1400. 

GREEN  THINGS  GROWING 

Oh,  the  green  things  growing,  the  green  things  growing, 
The  faint  sweet  smell  of  the  green  things  growing ! 
I  should  like  to  live,  whether  I  smile  or  grieve. 
Just  to  watch  the  happy  life  of  my  green  things  growing. 

Oh,  the  fluttering  and  the  pattering  of  those  green  things  growing ! 

How  they  talk  each  to  each,  when  none  of  us  are  knowing; 

In  the  wonderful  white  of  the  weird  moonlight 

Or  the  dim,  dreamy  dawn  when  the  cocks  are  crowing. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  229 

I  love,  I  love  them  so,  —  my  green  things  growing! 
And  I  think  that  they  love  me,  without  false  showing; 
For  by  many  a  tender  touch,  they  comfort  me  so  much, 
With  the  soft  mute  comfort  of  green  things  growing. 

Dinah  Mulock  Craik,  1826-1887. 

THE  LITTLE  BLUE  FOX 

Once  there  was  a  little  blue  fox,  and  his  name  was 
Eichkao,  and  he  was  a  thief.  So  he  built  his  house 
down  deep  among  the  rocks  under  the  moss  on  the  Mist 
Island,  and  his  little  fox  children  used  to  stay  down 
among  the  rocks.  There  they  would  gurgle,  gurgle, 
gurgle,  whenever  they  heard  anybody  walking  over  their 
heads. 

Eichkao  and  his  fox  wife  used  to  run  all  around  over 
the  rocks  to  find  something  for  them  to  eat,  and  when- 
ever he  saw  anybody  coming  he  would  go  clin-n-n-g, 
cling-g-g,  and  his  voice  was  high  and  sharp,  just  like 
the  voice  of  a  buzz-saw. 

One  day  he  walked  out  on  the  rocks  over  the  water 
and  began  to  talk  to  the  black  sea-parrot,  whose  name  is 
Epatka,  and  who  sits  erect  on  a  lazily  built  nest  with 
one  egg  in  it,  and  wears  a  great  big  bill  like  red  sealing- 
wax. 

He  has  a  long  white  quill  pen  stuck  over  each  ear, 
and  over  his  face  is  a  white  mask,  so  that  nobody  can 
know  what  kind  of  face  he  has,  and  all  you  can  see 
behind  the  mask  is  a  pair  of  little,  foolish,  twinkling 
white  eyes.  What  the  two  said  to  each  other  I  don't 
know,  but  they  did  not  talk  very  long;  for  in  a  few 
minutes,  when  I  came  back  to  his  house  among  the 
rocks,  Eichkao  was  out  of  sight,  and  there  lay  on  the 
bank  a  bill  made  of  red  sealing-wax,  a  white  mask,  and 
two  little  white  quill  pens. 

There  were  a  few  bones  and  claws  and  some  feathers 
but  they  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  anything  in  par- 
ticular, and  the  little  foxes  in  the  rocks  went  gurgle, 
gurgle,  gurgle. 

One  day  I  lay  down  on  the  moss  out  by  the  old  fox 
walk  on  the  Mist  Island,  and  Eichkao  saw  me  there  and 
thought  I  was  some  new  kind  of  walrus,  which  might  be 


230  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

good  to  eat,  and  would  feed  all  the  little  foxes  for  a 
month. 

So  he  ran  around  me  in  a  circle,  and  then  he  ran 
around  again,  then  again  and  again,  always  making  the 
circle  smaller,  till  finally  the  circle  was  so  small  that  I 
could  reach  him  with  my  hand. 

As  he  went  around  and  around,  all  the  time  he  looked 
at  me  with  his  cold,  gray,  selfish  eye,  and  not  one  of  the 
beasts  has  an  eye  so  cruel-cold  as  his. 

When  he  thought  that  he  was  near  enough  he  gave  a 
snap  with  his  jaws  and  tried  to  bite  out  a  morsel  to  take 
home  to  the  little  foxes,  but  all  I  offered  him  was  a 
piece  of  rubber  boot. 

And  when  I  turned  around  to  look  at  him  he  was 
running  as  fast  as  he  could,  calling  clin-n-g-g,  clin-n-g, 
clin-n-g,  like  a  scared  buzz-saw,  all  the  time  as  he  went 
out  of  sight.  And  I  think  that  he  is  running  yet,  and 
the  little  foxes  still  go  gurgle,  gurgle,  gurgle,  under  the 
rocks. 

From  "  The  Book  of  Knight  and  Barbara."      David  Starr  Jordan,  1851- 

A  SONG  OF  LOVE 
Say,  what  is  the  spell,  when  her  fledgelings  are  cheeping, 

That  lures  the  bird  home  to  her  nest? 
Or  wakes  the  tired  mother,  whose  infant  is  weeping, 

To  cuddle  and  croon  it  to  rest? 
What  the  magic  that  charms  the  glad  babe  in  her  arms, 

Till  it  cooes  with  the  voice  of  the  dove? 
'Tis  a  secret,  and  so  let  us  whisper  it  low  — 
And  the  name  of  the  secret  is  Love! 
For  I  think  it  is  Love, 
For  I  feel  it  is  Love, 
For  I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  but  Love! 

Say,  whence  is  the  voice  that  when  anger  is  burning, 

Bids  the  whirl  of  the  tempest  to  cease? 
That  stirs  the  vexed  soul  with  an  aching  —  a  yearning 

For  the  brotherly  hand-grip  of  peace? 
Whence  the  music  that  fills  all  our  being  —  that  thrills 

Around  us,  beneath,  and  above? 

'Tis  a  secret:   none  knows  how  it  comes,  or  it  goes  — 
But  the  name  of  the  secret  is  Love! 
For  I  think  it  is  Love, 
For  I  feel  it  is  Love, 
For  I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  but  Love! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  231 

Say,  whose  is  the  skill  that  paints  valley  and  hill, 

Like  a  picture  so  fair  to  the  sight? 
That  flecks  the  green  meadow  with  sunshine  and  shadow, 

Till  the  little  lambs  leap  with  delight? 
'Tis  a  secret  untold  to  hearts  cruel  and  cold, 

Though  'tis  sung  by  the  angels  above. 
In  notes  that  ring  clear  for  the  ears  that  can  hear  — 
And  the  name  of  the  secret  is  Love! 
For  I  think  it  is  Love, 
For  I  feel  it  is  Love, 
For  I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  but  Love! 

Lewis  Carroll  (Charles  Lutwidge  Dodgson),  about  1833-1898. 

A  CHRISTMAS  SONG 

Everywhere,  everywhere,  Christmas  to-night! 
Christmas  in  lands  of  fir  tree  and  pine; 
Christmas  in  lands  of  palm  tree  and  vine; 
Christmas  where  snow  peaks  stand  solemn  and  white; 
Christmas  where  cornfields  lie  sunny  and  bright: 

Everywhere,  everywhere,  Christmas  to-night! 
Christmas  where  children  are  hopeful  and  gay; 
Christmas  where  old  men  are  patient  and  gray; 
Christmas  where  peace,  like  a  dove  in  its  flight, 
Broods  o'er  brave  men  in  the  thick  of  the  fight: 

Everywhere,  everywhere,  Christmas  to-night! 
Then  let  every  heart  keep  its  Christmas  within, 
Christ's  pity  for  sorrow,  Christ's  hatred  for  sin, 
Christ's  care  for  the  weakest,  Christ's  courage  for  right, 
Christ's  dread  of  the  darkness,  Christ's  love  of  the  light, 

Everywhere,  everywhere,  Christmas  to-night! 

Phillips  Brooks,  1835-1893. 

THE  OLD  EARL  AND  HIS  GRANDSON 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  tall  footman  in  livery,  who 
had  escorted  Cedric  to  the  library  door,  opened  it  and 
announced:  "Lord  Fauntleroy,  my  lord,"  in  quite  a 
majestic  tone.  If  he  was  only  a  footman,  he  felt  it  was 
rather  a  grand  occasion  when  the  heir  came  home  to  his 
own  land  and  possessions,  and  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  the  old  Earl,  whose  place  and  title  he  was  to 
take. 

Cedric  crossed  the  threshold  into  the  room.  It  was  a 
very  large  and  splendid  room,  with  massive,  carved 
furniture  in  it,  and  shelves  upon  shelves  of  books.  The 
furniture  was  so  dark  and  the  draperies  so  heavy,  the 
diamond-paned  windows  were  so  deep,  and  it  seemed 


232  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

such  a  distance  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other,  that  since 
the  sun  had  gone  down  the  effect  of  it  all  was  rather 
gloomy.  For  a  moment  Cedric  thought  there  was  no- 
body in  the  room,  but  soon  he  saw  that  by  the  fire  burn- 
ing on  the  wide  hearth  there  was  a  large  easy -chair,  and 
in  that  chair  some  one  was  sitting  —  some  one  who  did 
not  at  first  turn  to  look  at  him. 

But  he  had  attracted  attention  in  one  quarter  at  least. 
On  the  floor  by  the  arm-chair  lay  a  dog,  a  huge,  tawny 
mastiff  with  body  and  limbs  almost  as  big  as  a  lion's,  and 
this  great  creature  rose  majestically  and  slowly  and 
marched  toward  the  little  fellow  with  a  heavy  step. 

Then  the  person  in  the  chair  spoke.  "Dougal,"  he 
called.  "Come  back,  sir." 

But  there  was  no  more  fear  than  there  was  unkind  - 
ness  in  little  Lord  Fauntleroy's  heart.  He  had  been  a 
brave  little  fellow  all  his  life.  He  put  his  hand  on  the 
big  dog's  collar  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world, 
and  they  strayed  forward  together,  Dougal  sniffling  as 
he  went. 

There  was  a  sudden  glow  of  triumph  and  exultation 
in  the  fiery  old  Earl's  heart,  as  he  saw  what  a  strong, 
beautiful  boy  this  grandson  was,  and  how  unhesitatingly 
he  looked  up  as  he  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  big  dog's 
neck. 

"Are  you  the  earl?"  asked  Cedric.  "I'm  your  grand- 
son, you  know.  I'm  Lord  Fauntleroy." 

He  held  out  his  hand  because  he  thought  it  must  be 
the  polite  and  proper  thing  to  do,  even  with  earls.  "I 
hope  you  are  very  well,"  he  continued,  with  the  utmost 
friendliness.  "I'm  very  glad  to  see  you." 

The  Earl  shook  hands  with  him,  with  a  curious  gleam 
in  his  eyes;  just  at  first  he  was  so  astonished  that  he 
scarcely  knew  what  to  say. 

"Glad  to  see  me,  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Lord  Fauntleroy,  "very." 

There  was  a  chair  near  him  and  he  sat  down  on  it.  It 
was  a  high-backed,  rather  tall  chair,  and  his  feet  did  not 
touch  the  floor  but  when  he  had  settled  himself  in  it  he 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  233 

seemed  to  be  quite  comfortable  as  he  sat  there  and  re- 
garded his  august  relative  intently  but  modestly. 

"I've  kept  wondering  what  you  would  look  like,"  he 
remarked.  "I  used  to  lie  in  my  berth  in  the  ship  and 
wonder  if  you  would  be  anything  like  my  father." 

"Am  I?"  asked  the  Earl. 

"Well,"  Cedric  replied,  "I  was  very  young  when  he 
died,  and  I  may  not  remember  exactly  how  he  looked, 
but  I  don't  think  you  are  like  him." 

"You  are  disappointed,  I  suppose,"  suggested  his 
grandfather. 

"O,  no,"  responded  Cedric,  politely.  "Of  course  you 
would  like  any  one  to  look  like  your  father;  but  of  course 
you  would  enjoy  the  way  your  grandfather  looked,  even 
if  he  wasn't  like  your  father.  You  know  how  it  is  your- 
self about  admiring  your  relations." 

The  Earl  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stared.  He 
could  not  be  said  to  know  how  it  was  about  admiring 
his  relations.  He  had  employed  most  of  his  noble 
leisure  in  quarreling  violently  with  them,  and  they  all 
hated  him  cordially. 

"Any  boy  would  love  his  grandfather,"  Lord  Faunt- 
leroy  went  on,  "especially  one  that  had  been  as  kind  to 
him  as  you  have  been." 

Another  queer  gleam  came  into  the  old  nobleman's 
eyes. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  kind  to  you,  have  I?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Lord  Fauntleroy,  brightly;  "I  am 
ever  so  much  obliged  to  you  about  Bridget,  and  the 
apple  woman,  and  Dick." 

"Bridget!"  exclaimed  the  Earl.  "Dick!  The  apple 
woman!" 

"Yes,"  explained  Cedric,  "the  ones  you  gave  me  all 
that  money  for  —  the  money  you  told  Mr.  Havisham  to 
give  me  if  I  wanted  it." 

"Ah!"  ejaculated  his  lordship.  "That's  it,  is  it? 
The  money  you  were  to  spend  as  you  liked.  What  did 
you  buy  with  it?  I  should  like  to  hear  something  about 
that." 

He  drew  his  shaggy  eyebrows  together  and  looked  at 


234  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

the  child  sharply.  He  was  secretly  curious  to  know  in 
what  way  the  lad  had  indulged  himself. 

"Oh!"  said  Lord  Fauntleroy,  "perhaps  you  didn't 
know  about  Dick  and  the  apple  woman  and  Bridget. 
They  were  particular  friends  of  mine.  And  Michael 
had  the  fever  — " 

"Who's  Michael?"  asked  the  Earl. 

"Michael  is  Bridget's  husband,  and  they  were  in  great 
trouble,  and  Bridget  used  to  come  to  our  home  and  cry. 
When  a  man  is  sick  and  can't  work  and  has  twelve 
children,  you  know  how  it  is.  And  Michael  has  always 
been  a  sober  man.  And  the  evening  Mr.  Havisham  was 
there,  she  was  in  the  kitchen  crying  because  they  had 
almost  nothing  to  eat  and  couldn't  pay  the  rent.  And 
I  went  in  to  see  her  and  Mr.  Havisham  sent  for  me  and 
he  said  you  had  given  him  some  money  for  me.  And  I 
ran  as  fast  as  I  could  into  the  kitchen  and  gave  it  to 
Bridget,  and  that  made  it  all  right;  and  Bridget  could 
scarcely  believe  her  eyes.  That's  why  I'm  so  obliged  to 
you." 

"Oh!"  said  the  Earl,  in  his  deep  voice;  "that  was  one 
of  the  things  you  did  for  yourself,  was  it?  What  else?" 

Lord  Fauntleroy  was  quite  willing  to  answer  all  his 
questions  and  chatted  on  in  his  genial  little  way  quite 
composedly.  He  told  all  about  Dick,  and  Jake,  and 
the  apple  woman  and  Mr.  Hobbs;  he  described  the  Re- 
publican Rally  in  all  the  glory  of  its  banners  and  trans- 
parencies, torches  and  rockets.  In  the  course  of  the 
conversation,  he  reached  the  Fourth  of  July  and  the 
Revolution,  and  was  just  becoming  enthusiastic,  when  he 
suddenly  recalled  something  and  stopped  very  abruptly. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  demanded  his  grandfather. 
"Why  don't  you  go  on?" 

Lord  Fauntleroy  moved  rather  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
It  was  evident  to  the  Earl  that  he  was  embarrassed  by 
the  thought  which  had  just  occurred  to  him. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  that  perhaps  you  mightn't  like 
it,"  he  replied.  "  Perhaps  some  one  belonging  to  you 
might  have  been  there.  I  forgot  you  were  an  English- 
man." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  235 

"  You  can  go  on,"  said  my  lord.  "  No  one  belonging  to 
me  was  there.  You  forgot  you  were  an  Englishman  too." 

"  Oh,  no!  "  said  Cedric  quickly,  "  I'm  an  American." 

"  You  are  an  Englishman,"  said  the  Earl  grimly. 
"  Your  father  was  an  Englishman." 

It  amused  him  a  little  to  say  this,  but  it  did  not  amuse 
Cedric.  The  lad  had  never  thought  of  such  a  develop- 
ment as  this.  He  felt  himself  grow  quite  hot  up  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair. 

"  I  was  born  in  America,"  he  protested.  "  You  have 
to  be  an  American,  if  you  are  born  in  America.  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  with  serious  politeness  and  delicacy, 
"  for  contradicting  you.  Mr.  Hobbs  told  me,  if  there 
was  another  war,  you  know,  I  should  have  to  be  an 
American." 

The  Earl  gave  a  grim  half  laugh  —  it  was  short  and 
grim,  but  it  was  a  laugh. 

"  You  would,  would  you? "  he  said.  He  hated 
America  and  Americans,  but  it  amused  him  to  see  how 
serious  and  interested  this  small  patriot  was.  He 
thought  that  so  good  an  American  might  make  a  rather 
good  Englishman  when  he  was  a  man. 

When  dinner  was  announced  Cedric  left  his  chair  and 
went  to  his  grandfather.  He  looked  down  at  the  gouty 
foot. 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  help  you?  "  he  said 
politely.  "  You  could  lean  on  me,  you  know.  Once 
when  Mr.  Hobbs  hurt  his  foot  with  a  potato  barrel  roll- 
ing on  it,  he  used  to  lean  on  me." 

The  big  footman  almost  periled  his  reputation  and  his 
situation  by  smiling.  He  was  an  aristocratic  footman 
who  had  always  lived  in  the  best  of  noble  families,  and 
he  had  never  smiled;  indeed,  he  would  have  felt  him- 
self a  disgraced  and  vulgar  footman  if  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  led  by  any  circumstance  whatever  into 
such  an  indiscretion  as  a  smile.  But  he  had  a  very 
narrow  escape.  He  only  just  saved  himself  by  staring 
straight  over  the  Earl's  head  at  a  very  ugly  picture. 

The  Earl  looked  his  valiant  relative  over  from  head  to 
foot. 


236  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  do  it?  "  he  asked  gruffly. 

"  I  think  I  could,"  said  Cedric.  "  I'm  strong.  I'm 
seven,  you  know.  You  could  lean  on  your  stick  on  one 
side  and  on  me  on  the  other.  Dick  says  I've  a  good 
deal  of  muscle  for  a  boy  that's  only  seven."  .  .  . 

"  Well,"  said  the  Earl,  "  you  may  try." 

He  got.  up  slowly  and  put  his  hand  on  the  small 
shoulder  presented  to  him  with  so  much  courage.  Little 
Lord  Fauntleroy  made  a  careful  step  forward.  It  was 
part  of  the  Earl's  experiment  to  let  his  grandson  feel 
his  burden  as  no  light  weight.  It  was  indeed  quite  a 
heavy  weight,  and  after  a  few  steps  the  boy's  face  grew 
hot  and  his  heart  beat  fast,  but  he  braced  himself  sturdily. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  leaning  on  me,"  he  panted.  "  I'm 
all  right  —  if —  if  it  isn't  a  very  long  way." 

It  was  not  really  very  far  to  the  dining  room,  but  it 
seemed  a  long  way  to  Cedric  before  they  reached  the  chair 
at  the  head  of  the  table.  The  big  dog  stalked  slowly  be- 
side them,  and  the  big  footman  followed.  Several  times 
he  looked  very  queer  as  he  watched  the  little  figure  mak- 
ing the  most  of  all  its  strength,  and  bearing  its  burden 
with  such  good  will. 

But  they  reached  the  chair  at  last.  The  hand  was 
removed  from  the  boy's  shoulder  and  the  Earl  was  seated. 

Cedric  took  out  Dick's  handkerchief  and  wiped  his 
forehead. 

"  It  is  a  warm  night,  isn't  it?  "  said  he. 

"  You  have  been  doing  some  rather  hard  work,"  said 
the  Earl. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Lord  Fauntleroy,  "  it  wasn't  exactly 
hard,  but  I  got  a  little  warm.  A  person  will  get  warm  in 
summer  time."  And  he  rubbed  his  damp  curls  vigor- 
ously with  the  gorgeous  handkerchief.  .  .  . 

Perhaps  he  had  never  seemed  so  little  a  fellow  as  when 
seated  now  in  his  great  chair  at  the  end  of  the  table. 
He  looked  at  the  Earl  across  a  glitter  of  splendid  glass 
and  plate  that  to  his  unaccustomed  eyes  seemed  quite 
dazzling. 

"  You  don't  wear  your  coronet  all  the  time?  "  he 
remarked  respectfully. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  237 

"  No,"  said  the  Earl,  with  his  grim  smile;  "it  is  not 
becoming  to  me." 

"  Mr.  Hobbs  said  you  always  wore  it,"  said  Cedric, 
"  but  after  he  had  thought  it  over,  he  said  he  supposed 
you  must  sometimes  take  it  off  to  put  your  hat  on." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Earl,  "  I  take  it  off  occasionally." 

And  one  of  the  footmen  suddenly  turned  aside  and 
gave  a  singular  little  cough  behind  his  hand.  .  .  . 

Later  in  the  evening  Mr.  Havisham  was  ushered  in. 
The  library  was  very  still  as  he  entered.  The  Earl  was 
leaning  back  in  his  armchair,  but  he  moved  as  Mr.  Hav- 
isham approached  and  held  up  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of 
warning.  Dougal  was  asleep  on  the  hearth  rug,  and  close 
beside  the  great  dog,  sleeping  also,  with  his  curly  head 
upon  his  arm,  lay  little  Lord  Fauntleroy. 

From  "  Little  Lord  Fauntleroy."          Frances  Hodgson  Burnett,  1849- 
THE  DOG  AND  HIS  SHADOW 

A  dog  with  a  piece  of  meat  in  his  mouth  was  crossing 
a  smooth  stream  upon  a  board.  Looking  down,  he  saw 
what  he  took  to  be  another  dog  with  another  piece  of 
meat.  Snapping  greedily  to  get  what  he  saw  in  the 
water,  he  dropped  the  piece  he  already  had,  and  lost  it 
in  the  stream. 

Not  known. 
THE  FENCING  MATCH 

The  Count  de  Guiche.     He  begins  to  be  tiresome. 

The  Viscount  de  Valvert.  The  boaster! 

De  Guiche.     Will  no  one  answer  him? 

The  Viscount.  Not  one? 

But  wait!     I  '11  fling  a  shaft  at  him  myself. 

(He  advances  toward  Cyrano.) 

You  —  you  have  a  nose  —  a  nose  that 's  very  big ! 
Cyrano  (gravely).     Very. 
The  Viscount  (laughing).     Ha! 
Cyrano.  Is  that  all? 

The  Viscount.  Why  not? 

Cyrano.     Ah,  no,  young  man;  that  seems  a  trifle  short. 

You  could  have  said  so  many  sharper  things 

By  varying  the  tone  a  little  —  thus:  — 

Aggressive:   Were  I  cursed  with  such  a  nose 

I'd  amputate  it  e'er  the  day  should  close. 

Friendly:  Does  it  not  bother  you  to  drink? 


238  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Curious:   For  scissors,  or  to  hold  your  ink? 

Descriptive:   'Tis  a  rock,  a  cape,  a  tent  — 

Did  I  say  cape?     Peninsula  I  meant. 

Gracious:   A  charming  perch  for  little  birds! 

You  must  have  sympathy  beyond  all  words. 

Teasing:   When  fumes  from  pipe  and  nose  rise  higher 

Does  no  good  neighbor  ever  cry  out  Fire? 

Prudent:   Be  careful,  for  a  weight  like  that 

Might  make  you  lose  your  balance,  lay  you  flat. 

Tender:   Please  have  a  small  umbrella  made, 

Lest  in  the  sunshine  that  bright  hue  should  fade. 

Wise:  Only  Aristophanes'  queer  beast, 

The  Hippo-camel-elephant  at  least, 

Could  wear  upon  his  face  that  lump  of  bone 

And  proudly  swear  it  was  his  very  own. 

Easy:   Is  this  Dame  Fashion's  latest  crook? 

Do  hang  your  hat  on  such  a  handy  hook ! 

Weighty:   No  wind,  save  when  the  mistral  blows, 

Could  bring  a  cold  to  that  majestic  nose. 

Alarmed:   'Twould  be  the  Red  Sea  should  it  bleed! 

Admiring:   A  perfumer's  sign  indeed! 

Lyric:   A  shell?     A  Triton  bold  are  you? 

Simple:   A  monument!     Is  it  on  view? 

Respectful:   Let  me  take  a  humble  tone! 

How  grand  to  have  a  mansion  of  one's  own ! 

Rustic:  Oh,  nonsense!     Call  that  thing  a  nose? 

'T  is  a  prize  turnip  or  a  cabbage  rose. 

Military:   Aim  at  the  cavalry! 

Practical:    Prize  for  a  lottery! 

Such,  my  dear  sir,  is  what  you  might  have  said, 

Had  there  been  room  for  brains  in  that  small  head. 

Though  let  me  own  that  had  you  had  the  wit, 

You  never  would  have  said  one  word  of  it. 

I  take  much  from  myself  —  that  is  quite  true, 

But  not  a  hint  of  insolence  from.  you. 
De  Guiche.     Viscount,  come  away! 
The  Viscount  (choking  with  helpless  rage). 

But  what  disgrace! 

This  country  boor,  who  wears  no  gloves,  no  lace, 

No  ribbons  —  flouts  me  to  my  very  face! 
Cyrano.     'Tis  true  my  elegance  is  all  inside: 

In  paltry  trappings  I  take  little  pride. 

I  am  no  dandy  in  my  street  array, 

And  yet  I  am  as  well  dressed  in  my  way. 

Because,  you  see,  although  your  gems  are  bright 

My  honor  is  unsoiled,  my  conscience  white. 
The  Viscount  (angrily).  Sir! 

Cyrano.     I  have  no  gloves?  —  a  sad  affair ! 

I  had  one  once,  the  last  of  an  old  p*ir. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  239 

Perhaps,  not  having  for  the  thing  a  place 
I  may  have  flung  it  in  some  upstart's  face. 
The  Viscount.     Scoundrel!     Stupid  fellow!     Jumping  jack! 
Cyrano  (taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing  politely  as  if  the  Viscount 
had  introduced  himself).     And  I  —  am  Cyrano  de  Bergerac. 
The  Viscount  (exasperated).     Clown! 
Cyrano.  Oh!  Oh! 

The  Viscount.     What  is  he  saying  now? 
Cyrano.     It  must  be  moved;   it's  very  stiff  and  sore, 

Because,  you  see,  I  haven't  used  it  more. 
The  Viscount.  What's  the  matter  with  you? 
Cyrano.  'Tis  my  sword. 

I  really  fear  it  has  the  cramp,  my  lord. 
The  Viscount.     Excellent!     And  so  has  mine,  I  vow. 
Cyrano.     A  charming  stroke  I'm  going  to  show  you  now. 
The  Viscount  (contemptuously).     Poet! 
Cyrano.     Yes,  poet,  sir.     To  prove  my  skill 
I'll  improvise  a  neat  ballade 
While  we  are  fencing  —  on  my  word  I  will! 
The  Viscount.     Ballade?     What's  that?     Ballade? 
Cyrano.     Know  then,  my  lord,  the  true  ballade  contains 

Three  eight- versed  stanzas  — 

The  Viscount.  Bother  your  quatrains! 

Cyrano.     'Tis  the  envoi  has  four;   you  apprehend? 
The  Viscount  (impatiently).     Oh! 
Cyrano.     I'll  make  one  while  we  fight,  my  friend, 

And  touch  you  neatly  at  the  very  end. 
The  Viscount.     No! 

Cyrano.  No?     (Declaiming) 

Ballade  of  a  duel  one  day  fought 
Between  a  poet  and  a  good-for-naught. 
The  Viscount.     And  what  may  that  be,  if  you  please? 
Cyrano.     That's  the  title. 

Wait  till  I  choose  my  rhymes  —  I'm  ready  now. 
(The  spectators  range  themselves  around  the  fencers.     Cyrano  times 

his  action  to  his  words.) 
My  cap  and  cloak  with  courtly  grace 

I  fling  upon  the  dusty  sward; 
And  stepping  forth  a  little  space 
I  now  unsheathe  my  trusty  sword. 
Free  as  the  wind  harp's  lightest  chord, 

Agile  as  any  Scaramouche, 
I  warn  you,  ere  we  rest  on  guard, 
Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch! 

'Twere  better  you  had  held  your  peace; 

Now  choose  where  I  shall  hit,  my  lord! 
Your  side?     Your  thigh?     Select  the  place!  — 

Perhaps  beneath  that  dangling  cord! 


240  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Ding-dong!  —  A  jangle  sings  my  sword; 

You  think  its  point  may  swerve?     Not  much  I 
Beware!  the  event  is  drawing  toward! 

Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch! 

Alack!     I  need  a  rhyme  for  ace; 

Ah,  now  you  blanch  and  so  afford 
Me  chance  to  call  you  "  Flour- face!  " 
Tic-tac!     You  wildly  thrust,  I  ward, 
And,  ere  your  balance  is  restored, 

I  free  the  heart  line  thus!     Now  clutch 
Thy  foolish  spit,  thou  scullion  froward! 

Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch! 
(He  announces  solemnly) 

Envoi 
Prince,  your  defeat  will  be  deplored. 

Come,  find  excuse  for  such  and  such! 
Cut!     Feint!     Aha!     I  keep  my  word, 

Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch! 

(Amid   great  applause   Cyrano   "  touches "   his  opponent   and 
sheathes  his  sword  as  the  Viscount  is  led  away  by  his  friends.) 

Edmond  Rostand. 

MOTI  GUJ  — MUTINEER 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  coffee  planter  in  India 
who  wished  to  clear  some  forest  land  for  coffee  planting. 
When  he  had  cut  down  all  the  trees  and  burned  the  un- 
derwood the  stumps  still  remained. 

Dynamite  is  expensive  and  slow-fire  slow.  The  happy 
medium  for  stump  clearing  is  the  elephant,  the  lord  of 
all  beasts.  He  will  either  push  the  stump  out  of  the 
ground  with  his  tusks,  if  he  has  any,  or  drag  it  out  with 
ropes.  The  planter,  therefore,  hired  elephants  by  ones 
and  twos  and  threes,  and  fell  to  work. 

The  very  best  of  all  the  elephants  belonged  to  the 
very  worst  of  all  the  drivers  or  mahouts;  and  the 
superior  beast's  name  was  Moti  Guj. 

Deesa  sat  on  Moti  Guj's  neck  and  gave  him  orders, 
while  Moti  Guj  rooted  up  the  stumps  —  for  he  had  a 
magnificent  pair  of  tusks;  or  he  pulled  at  the  end  of  a 
rope — for  he  had  a  magnificent  pair  of  shoulders — while 
Deesa  kicked  him  behind  the  ears  and  said  he  was  the 
king  of  elephants. 

At  evening  time  Moti  Guj   would  wash  down  his 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  241 

three  hundred  pounds'  weight  of  green  food  with  a 
quart  of  arrack,  and  Deesa  would  take  a  share  and  sing 
songs  between  Moti  Guj's  legs  till  it  was  time  to  go  to 
bed. 

Once  a  week  Deesa  led  Moti  Guj  down  to  the  river, 
and  Moti  Guj  lay  on  his  side  luxuriously  in  the  shallows, 
while  Deesa  went  over  him  with  a  coir-swab  and  a 
brick.  Moti  Guj  never  mistook  the  pounding  blow  of 
the  latter  for  the  smack  of  the  former  that  warned  him 
to  get  up  and  turn  over  on  the  other  side.  Then  Deesa 
would  look  at  his  feet,  and  examine  his  eyes,  and  turn  up 
the  fringes  of  his  mighty  ears. 

After  inspection,  the  two  would  "  come  up  with  a 
song  from  the  sea,"  —  Moti  Guj  all  black  and  shining, 
waving  a  torn  tree  branch  twelve  feet  long  in  his  trunk, 
and  Deesa  knotting  up  his  own  long,  wet  hair.  It  was  a 
peaceful  life  until  Deesa  wished  to  go  away  on  a  journey. 

"  Deesa,"  said  the  planter,  "  I'd  give  you  leave  on 
the  spot  if  anything  could  be  done  with  Moti  Guj  while 
you  are  away.  You  know  that  he  will  obey  only  your 
orders." 

"  I  shall  be  absent  but  ten  little  days.  After  that, 
upon  my  faith  and  honor,  I  return.  As  to  the  incon- 
siderable interval,  have  I  the  gracious  permission  of 
the  Heaven-born  to  call  up  Moti  Guj?  " 

Permission  was  granted,  and  in  answer  to  Deesa's 
shrill  yell,  the  lordly  tusker  swung  out  of  the  shade  of  a 
clump  of  trees  where  he  had  been  squirting  dust  over 
himself  till  his  master  should  return. 

"  Light  of  my  heart,  give  ear,"  said  Deesa,  standing 
in  front  of  him. 

Moti  Guj  gave  ear  and  saluted  with  his  trunk.  "  I 
am  going  away,"  said  Deesa. 

Moti  Guj's  eyes  twinkled.  He  liked  jaunts  as  well  as 
his  master.  One  could  snatch  all  manner  of  nice  things 
from  the  roadside  then. 

"  But  you  must  stay  behind  and  work." 

The  twinkle  died  out  as  Moti  Guj  tried  to  look  de- 
lighted. He  hated  stump  hauling  on  the  plantation. 
It  hurt  his  teeth. 


242  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  I  shall  be  gone  for  ten  days,  O  Delectable  One. 
Hold  up  your  near  forefoot  and  I'll  impress  the  fact 
upon  it." 

Deesa  took  a  tent  peg  and  banged  Moti  Guj  ten  times 
on  the  nails.  Moti  Guj  grunted  and  shuffled  from  foot 
to  foot. 

"  Ten  days,"  said  Deesa,  "  you  must  work  and  haul 
and  root  trees  as  Chihun  here  shall  order  you.  Take  up 
Chihun  and  set  him  on  your  neck!  " 

Moti  Guj  curled  the  tip  of  his  trunk,  Chihun  put  his 
foot  there  and  was  swung  on  to  the  elephant's  neck. 
Deesa  handed  Chihun  the  heavy  ankus,  the  iron  ele- 
phant goad. 

Chihun  thumped  Moti  Guj's  bald  head  as  a  paver 
thumps  a  curbstone. 

Moti  Guj  trumpeted. 

"  Be  still.  Chihun's  your  mahout  for  ten  days.  And 
now  bid  me  good-by,  beast  after  mine  own  heart. 
Jewel  of  all  created  elephants,  lily  of  the  herd,  preserve 
your  honored  health.  Adieu!  " 

Moti  Guj  lapped  his  trunk  round  Deesa  and  swung 
him  into  the  air  twice.  That  was  his  way  of  bidding 
the  man  good-by. 

"  He'll  work  now,"  said  Deesa  to  the  planter.  "  Have 
I  leave  to  go?  " 

The  planter  nodded,  and  Deesa  dived  into  the  woods. 
Moti  Guj  went  back  to  haul  stumps. 

Chihun  was  very  kind  to  him,  but  he  felt  unhappy 
and  forlorn  notwithstanding.  Chihun  gave  him  balls 
of  spices  and  tickled  him  under  the  chin,  and  Chihun's 
little  baby  cooed  to  him  after  work  was  over,  and 
Chihun's  wife  called  him  a  darling.  But  Moti  Guj 
wanted  the  light  of  his  universe  back  again  —  the  sav- 
age beatings  and  the  savage  caresses. 

None  the  less  he  worked  well,  and  the  planter  won- 
dered. The  morning  of  the  eleventh  day  dawned,  and 
there  returned  no  Deesa.  Moti  Guj  was  loosed  from 
his  ropes  for  the  daily  stint.  He  swung  clear,  looked 
round,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  began  to  walk  away 
as  one  having  business  elsewhere. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  243 

"Hi!  ho!  Come  back,  you!"  shouted  Chihun. 
"  Come  back  and  put  me  on  your  neck.  Return, 
Splendor  of  the  Hillsides,  Adornment  of  all  India,  heave 
to,  or  I'll  bang  every  toe  off  your  fat  forefoot!  " 

Moti  Guj  gurgled  gently,  but  did  not  obey.  Chihun 
ran  after  him  with  a  rope  and  caught  him  up.  Moti 
Guj  put  his  ears  forward,  and  Chihun  knew  what  that 
meant. 

"  None  of  your  nonsense  with  me,"  said  he.  "  To 
your  pickets!  " 

"Hrrump!"   said   Moti  Guj;    and  that  was   all  — 
that  and  the  fore-bent  ears. 

Chihun  reported  the  state  of  affairs  to  the  planter, 
who  came  out  with  a  dog  whip  and  cracked  it  furiously. 
Moti  Guj  paid  the  white  man  the  compliment  of  charg- 
ing him  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  the  clearing 
and  "  hrrumping  "  him  into  the  veranda.  Then  he 
stood  outside  the  house  chuckling  to  himself  and  shak- 
ing all  over  with  the  fun  of  it,  as  an  elephant  will. 

"  We'll  thrash  him,"  said  the  planter.  "  Give  Kala 
Nag  and  Nazim  twelve  feet  of  chain  apiece,  and  tell 
them  to  lay  on  twelve  blows." 

Kala  Nag  —  which  means  Black  Snake  —  and  Nazim 
were 'two  of  the  biggest  elephants  in  the  lines,  and  one  of 
their  duties  was  to  administer  the  graver  punishments, 
since  no  man  can  beat  an  elephant  properly. 

They  took  the  whipping  chains  and  rattled  them  in 
their  trunks  as  they  sidled  up  to  Moti  Guj. 

Never  in  all  his  life  of  thirty-nine  years  had  Moti 
Guj  been  whipped,  and  he  did  not  intend  to  open  new 
experiences.  So  he  waited,  waving  his  head  to  right 
and  left,  and  measuring  the  precise  spot  in  Kala  Nag's 
fat  side  where  a  blunt  tusk  would  sink  deepest.  Kala 
Nag  had  no  tusks;  the  chain  was  his  badge  of  authority; 
but  he  judged  it  wise  to  swing  wide  of  Moti  Guj's  at 
the  last  minute,  as  if  he  had  brought  out  the  chain 
for  amusement.  Nazim  turned  around  and  went  home. 
He  did  not  feel  in  fighting  trim. 

That  decided  the  planter  to  argue  no  more,  and 
Moti  Guj  rolled  back  to  his  inspection  of  the  clearing, 


244  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

where  he  wandered  to  and  fro  till  sundown,  when  he 
returned  to  his  pickets  for  food. 

"  If  you  won't  work  you  sha'n't  eat,"  said  Chihun 
angrily.  "  You're  a  wild  elephant,  and  no  educated 
animal  at  all.  Go  back  to  your  jungle." 

Chihun's  little  brown  baby,  rolling  on  the  floor  of  the 
hut,  stretched  its  fat  arms  to  the  huge  shadow  in  the 
doorway.  Moti  Guj  knew  that  it  was  the  dearest 
thing  on  earth  to  Chihun.  He  swung  out  his  trunk, 
and  the  brown  baby  threw  itself  shouting  upon  it. 
Moti  Guj  made  fast  and  pulled  up  till  the  brown  baby 
was  crowing  in  the  air,  twelve  feet  above  his  father's 
head. 

"  Flour  cakes  of  the  best  shall  be  yours  on  the  instant 
and  two  hundred  pounds  of  fresh-cut  sugar-cane," 
cried  Chihun.  "  Deign  only  to  put  down  safely  that 
insignificant  child,  who  is  my  heart  and  my  life  to  me." 

Moti  Guj  tucked  the  brown  baby  comfortably  be- 
tween his  forefeet  and  waited  for  his  food.  He  ate  it, 
and  the  brown  baby  crawled  away. 

At  midnight  Moti  Guj  strode  out  of  his  pickets,  for  a 
thought  had  come  to  him  that  Deesa  might  be  lying 
somewhere  in  the  dark  forest  with  none  to  look  after 
him. 

So  all  that  night  he  chased  through  the  undergrowth, 
blowing  and  trumpeting  and  shaking  his  ears.  He  went 
down  to  the  river  and  blared  across  the  shallows  where 
Deesa  used  to  wash  him,  but  there  was  no  answer. 

At  dawn  Deesa  returned  to  the  plantation.  He  ex- 
pected to  fall  into  trouble  for  outstaying  his  leave.  He 
drew  a  long  breath  when  he  found  that  the  bungalow 
and  the  plantation  were  still  uninjured;  for  he  knew 
something  of  Moti  Guj's  temper. 

"  Call  up  your  beast,"  said  the  planter;  and  Deesa 
shouted  in  the  mysterious  elephant  language  that  some 
mahouts  believe  came  from  China  at  the  birth  of  the 
world,  when  elephants  and  not  men  were  masters. 

Moti  Guj  heard  and  came.  He  was  at  the  planter's 
door  almost  before  Chihun  noticed  that  he  had  left  his 
pickets.  He  fell  into  Deesa's  arms,  trumpeting  with 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  245 

joy,  and  the  man  and  beast  handled  each  other  from 
head  to  heel  to  see  that  no  harm  had  befallen. 

"  Now  we  will  get  to  work,"  said  Deesa.  "  Lift  me 
up,  my  son  and  my  joy."  Moti  Guj  swung  him  up, 
and  the  two  went  to  the  coffee  clearing  to  look  for  irk- 
some stumps.  The  planter  was  too  much  astonished  to 
be  very  angry. 

Rudyard  Kipling. 

TO-DAY 

So  here  hath  been  dawning,  Behold  it  aforetime 

Another  blue  day;  No  eye  ever  did; 

Think,  wilt  thou  let  it  So  soon  it  forever 

Slip  useless  away?  From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Out  of  Eternity  Here  hath  been  dawning 

This  new  day  is  born;  Another  blue  day; 

Into  Eternity,  Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

At  night,  will  return.  Slip  useless  away? 

Thomas  Carlyle,  1795-1881. 

THE  WIND  AND  THE  MOON 

Said  the  Wind  to  the  Moon,  "  I  will  blow  you  out!  You  stare 
in  the  air  like  a  ghost  in  a  chair,  always  looking  what  I  am  about. 
I  hate  to  be  watched;  I  will  blow  you  out." 

The  Wind  blew  hard,  and  out  went  the  Moon.  So,  deep  on  a  heap 
of  clouds,  to  sleep,  down  lay  the  Wind,  and  slumbered  soon  —  mut- 
tering low,  "  I've  done  for  that  Moon." 

He  turned  in  his  bed;  she  was  there  again.  On  high  in  the  sky, 
with  her  one  ghost  eye,  the  Moon  shone  white  and  alive  and  plain. 
Said  the  Wind,  "  I  will  blow  you  out  again." 

The  Wind  blew  hard,  and  the  Moon  grew  dim.  "  With  my 
sledge  and  my  wedge  I  have  knocked  off  her  edge.  If  only  I  blow 
right  fierce  and  grim,  the  creature  will  soon  be  dimmer  than  dim." 

He  blew  and  he  blew,  and  she  thinned  to  a  thread.  "  One  puff 
more's  enough  to  blow  her  to  snuff!  One  good  puff  more  where  the 
last  was  bred,  and  glimmer,  glimmer,  glum  will  go  the  thread."  He 
blew  a  great  blast,  and  the  thread  was  gone;  in  the  air  nowhere  was 
a  moonbeam  bare;  far  off  and  harmless  the  shy-stars  shone:  sure 
and  certain  the  Moon  was  gone! 

The  Wind  he  took  to  his  revels  once  more;  on  down,  in  town, 
like  a  merry-mad  clown,  he  leaped  and  halloed  with  whistle  and  roar, 
"  What's  that?  "  The  glimmering  thread  once  more.  He  flew  in  a 
rage  —  he  danced  and  blew;  but  in  vain  was  the  pain  of  bis  bursting 
brain;  for  still  the  broader  the  moon-scrap  grew,  the  broader  he 
swelled  his  big  cheeks,  and  blew.  Slowly  she  grew  —  till  she  filled 
the  night,  and  shone  on  her  throne  in  the  sky  alone,  a  matchless, 
wonderful,  silvery  light,  radiant  and  lovely,  the  queen  of  the  night. 


246  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Said  the  Wind,  "  What  a  marvel  of  power  am  I!  With  my 
breath,  good  faith,  I  blew  her  to  death  —  first  blew  her  away  right 
out  of  the  sky  —  then  blew  her  in;  what  strength  am  I!  " 

But  the  Moon  she  knew  nothing  about  the  affair,  for,  high  in  the 
sky,  with  her  one  white  eye,  motionless,  miles  above  the  air,  she  had 
never  heard  the  great  Wind  blare. 

George  Macdonald,  1824-1905. 

HOW  HANS  WAS  PROMOTED 

Hans  was  a  little  shepherd  boy  who  lived  a  long  time 
ago  in  Germany.  One  day  he  was  watching  his  sheep 
as  they  fed  in  a  meadow  not  far  from  a  great  wood,  when 
a  hunter  came  out  of  the  forest  and  asked:  "  How  far 
is  it  to  the  nearest  town,  my  boy?  " 

"  It  is  six  miles,  sir,"  he  answered.  "  But  the  road  is 
only  a  sheep  track,  and  it  is  very  easy  to  miss  it." 

The  hunter  looked  about  him  and  said:  "  My  lad, 
I  am  very  hungry  and  tired,  for  I  have  been  lost  in  this 
wood.  If  you  will  leave  your  sheep  here  and  show  me 
the  way,  I  will  pay  you  well." 

"  I  cannot  leave  my  sheep,  sir,"  said  the  boy.  "  They 
would  wander  into  the  wood  and  be  eaten  by  wolves  or 
stolen  by  robbers." 

"  Well,  what  of  that?  "  answered  the  hunter.  "  They 
.are  not  your  sheep.  The  loss  of  one  or  two  would  not 
be  much  to  your  master,  and  I  will  give  you  more  than 
you  have  earned  in  a  whole  year." 

"  Sir,  I  cannot  go,"  answered  Hans.  "  My  time 
does  not  belong  to  me,  for  my  master  pays  me  for  it. 
Besides,  if  any  of  the  sheep  should  be  lost  I  would  be  to 
blame  as  much  as  if  I  had  stolen  them." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  hunter,  "  will  you  trust  your 
sheep  with  me  while  you  go  to  the  village  and  get  me 
some  food  and  a  guide?  I  will  take  care  of  them  for 
you."  But  the  boy  shook  his  head. 

"  The  sheep,"  said  he,  "  do  not  know  your  voice, 
and  —  "he  stopped  speaking. 

"  And  what? "  asked  the  hunter.  "  Cannot  you 
trust  me?  Do  I  look  like  a  thief?  " 

"  You  are  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Hans,  "  but  you 
tried  to  make  me  break  my  word  to  my  master.  And 
how  do  I  know  that  you  would  keep  your  word?" 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  247 

The  hunter  laughed,  for  he  felt  that  the  lad  was 
right.  Then  he  said: 

"  I  see,  my  boy,  that  you  can  be  trusted.  I  will  not 
forget  you.  Show  me  where  to  find  the  sheep  path 
that  you  spoke  about,  and  I  will  try  to  follow  it  without 
a  guide." 

Hans  then  offered  the  hunter  the  food  which  he  had 
brought  for  lunch  that  day;  and,  coarse  as  it  was,  the 
hungry  man  ate  it  gladly.  While  he  was  eating,  there 
was  a  shout  in  the  forest,  and  several  other  hunters 
came  up. 

Then,  to  his  great  surprise,  Hans  learned  that  the  man 
to  whom  he  had  talked  so  plainly  was  the  prince,  who 
owned  all  the  country  around.  The  prince  was  so 
pleased  with  the  boy's  honesty  that  he  soon  afterwards 
sent  for  him  to  come  to  the  city. 

And  so  Hans,  dressed  in  his  best  suit,  and  carrying 
his  shoes  under  his  arm,  went  to  visit  the  great  man  in 
his  fine  palace. 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  a  boy  who  can  always  be 
trusted,"  said  the  prince,  "  and  so  I  want  you  to  live 
with  me.  You  shall  be  as  one  of  my  family,  and  shall 
have  books  and  teachers,  and  everything  else  that  is 
needed  to  help  you  along  the  true  road  to  manhood." 

Not  known. 

EYES  AND  NO  EYES 

Mr.  Andrews.  Well,  Robert,  where  have  you  been  walking  this 
afternoon  at  the  close  of  your  holiday? 

Robert.  I  have  been,  sir,  to  Broom  Heath,  and  so  around  by 
the  windmill  upon  Camp  Mount,  and  home  through  the  meadows  by 
the  riverside. 

Mr.  A.     Well,  that's  a  pleasant  round. 

R.  I  thought  it  very  dull,  sir;  I  scarcely  met  with  a  single  per- 
son. I  had  rather  by  half  have  gone  along  the  turnpike  road. 

Mr.  A.  Why,  if  seeing  men  and  horses  is  your  object,  you  would 
indeed  be  better  entertained  upon  the  high  road.  But  did  you  see 
William? 

R.  We  set  out  together,  but  he  lagged  behind  in  the  lane,  so  I 
walked  on  and  left  him. 

Mr.  A.     That  was  a  pity.    He  would  have  been  company  for  you. 

R.  Oh,  he  is  so  tedious,  always  stopping  to  look  at  this  thing 
and  that.  I  had  rather  walk  alone.  I  dare  say  he  is  not  home  yet. 

Mr.  A.     Here  he  comes.     Well,  William,  where  have  you  been? 


248  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

William.  Oh,  sir,  the  pleasantest  walk!  I  went  all  over  Broom 
Heath,  and  so  up  to  the  mill  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  then  down 
among  the  green  meadows  by  the  side  of  the  river. 

Mr.  A.  Why,  that  is  just  the  round  Robert  has  been  taking,  and 
he  complains  of  its  dulness  and  prefers  the  high  road. 

W.  I  wonder  at  that.  I  am  sure  I  hardly  took  a  step  that 
did  not  delight  me,  and  I  brought  home  my  handkerchief  full  of 
curiosities. 

Mr.  A.  Suppose,  then,  you  give  us  some  account  of  what  amused 
you  so  much.  I  fancy  it  will  be  as  new  to  Robert  as  to  me. 

W.  I  will,  sir.  The  lane  leading  to  the  heath,  you  know,  is  close 
and  sandy,  so  I  did  not  mind  it  much  but  made  the  best  of  my  way. 
However,  I  spied  a  curious  thing  enough  in  the  hedge.  It  was  an 
old  crab  tree,  out  of  which  grew  a  great  bunch  of  something  green, 
quite  different  from  the  tree  itself.  Here  is  a  branch  of  it. 

Mr.  A.  Ah,  this  is  mistletoe,  a  plant  of  great  fame  for  the  use 
made  of  it  by  the  Druids  of  old  in  their  religious  rites. 

W.  A  little  farther  on  I  saw  a  green  woodpecker  fly  to  a  tree 
and  run  up  the  trunk  like  a  cat. 

Mr.  A.  That  was  to  seek  for  insects  in  the  bark,  on  which  they 
live.  They  bore  holes  with  their  strong  bills  for  that  purpose,  and 
do  much  damage  to  the  trees  by  it. 

W.  There  was  a  flock  of  lapwings  upon  a  marshy  part  of  the 
heath  that  amused  me  much.  As  I  came  near  them,  some  of  them 
kept  flying  round  and  round  just  over  my  head,  and  crying  "  pewit  " 
so  distinctly  one  might  fancy  they  almost  spoke.  I  thought  I  should 
have  caught  one  of  them,  for  he  flew  as  if  one  of  his  wings  were  broken, 
and  often  tumbled  close  to  the  ground;  but,  as  I  came  near,  he 
always  made  a  shift  to  get  away. 

Mr.  A.  Ha,  ha!  you  were  finely  taken  in,  then!  This  was  all  an 
artifice  of  the  bird's  to  entice  you  away  from  its  nest;  for  they  build 
upon  the  bare  ground,  and  their  nests  would  easily  be  observed,  did 
they  not  draw  off  the  attention  of  intruders  by  their  loud  cries  and 
counterfeit  lameness. 

W.  I  wish  I  had  known  that,  for  he  led  me  a  long  chase,  often 
over  shoes  in  water.  However,  it  was  the  cause  of  my  falling  in  with 
an  old  man  and  a  boy  who  were  cutting  and  piling  up  turf  for  fuel, 
and  I  had  a  good  deal  of  talk  with  them  about  the  manner  of  pre- 
paring the  turf,  and  the  price  at  which  it  sells.  They  gave  me,  too, 
a  creature  I  never  saw  before  —  a  young  viper  which  they  had  just 
killed,  together  with  its  dam.  I  have  seen  several  common  snakes, 
but  this  is  thicker  in  proportion  and  of  a  darker  color  than  they  are. 
They  are  very  venomous,  are  they  not? 

Mr.  A.  Enough  so  to  make  their  wounds  painful  and  dangerous, 
though  they  seldom  prove  fatal. 

W.  Well,  I  then  took  my  course  up  to  the  windmill  on  the  mount. 
I  climbed  up  the  steps  of  the  mill  in  order  to  get  a  better  view  of  the 
country  round.  What  an  extensive  prospect!  From  the  hill  I  went 
straight  down  to  the  meadows  below,  and  walked  on  the  side  of  a 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  249 

brook  that  runs  into  the  river.  It  was  all  bordered  with  reeds  and 
flags  and  tall  flowering  plants,  quite  different  from  those  I  had  seen 
on  the  heath.  There  were  a  great  many  large  dragon-flies  all  about 
the  stream.  I  caught  one  of  the  finest,  and  have  him  here  in  a  leaf. 
But  how  I  longed  to  catch  a  bird  that  I  saw  hovering  over  the  water, 
and  every  now  and  then  darting  down  into  it!  It  was  all  over  a 
mixture  of  the  most  beautiful  green  and  blue,  with  some  orange 
color.  It  was  somewhat  less  than  a  thrush,  and  had  a  large  head 
and  bill,  and  a  short  tail. 

Mr.  A.  I  can  tell  you  what  that  bird  was  —  a  kingfisher,  the 
celebrated  halcyon  of  the  ancients,  about  which  so  many  tales  are 
told.  It  lives  on  fish,  which  it  catches  in  the  manner  you  saw.  It 
builds  in  holes  in  the  banks,  and  is  a  shy,  retired  bird,  never  to  be 
seen  far  from  the  stream  where  it  lives. 

W.  I  must  try  to  get  another  sight  at  him.  I  followed  this  little 
brook  till  it  entered  the  river,  and  then  took  the  path  that  runs  along 
the  bank.  On  the  opposite  side  I  observed  several  little  birds  run- 
ning along  the  shore,  and  making  a  piping  noise.  They  were  brown 
and  white,  and  about  as  big  as  a  snipe. 

Mr.  A.  I  suppose  they  were  sand-pipers,  one  of  the  numerous 
family  of  birds  that  get  their  living  by  wading  among  the  shallows, 
and  picking  up  worms  and  insects. 

W.  There  were  a  great  many  swallows,  too,  sporting  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Sometimes  they  dashed  into  the  stream; 
sometimes  they  pursued  one  another  so  quick  that  the  eye  could 
scarcely  follow  them.  In  one  place,  where  a  high,  steep  sandbank 
rose  directly  above  the  river,  I  observed  many  of  them  go  in  and  out 
of  holes  with  which  the  bank  was  bored  full. 

Mr.  A.  Those  were  sand-martins,  the  smallest  of  our  species  of 
swallows.  They  are  of  a  mouse-color  above,  and  white  beneath. 
They  make  their  nests  and  bring  up  their  young  in  these  holes,  which 
run  a  great  depth,  and  by  their  situation  are  secure  from  all  plun- 
derers. 

W.  A  little  farther  on  I  saw  a  man  in  a  boat,  who  was  catching 
eels.  While  I  was  looking  at  him  a  heron  came  flying  over  my  head, 
with  his  large,  flapping  wings.  He  lit  at  the  next  turn  of  the  river, 
and  I  crept  softly  behind  the  bank  to  watch  his  motions.  He  had 
waded  into  the  water  as  far  as  his  long  legs  would  carry  him,  and  was 
standing  with  his  neck  drawn  in,  looking  intently  on  the  stream. 
Presently  he  darted  his  long  bill  into  the  water  and  drew  out  a  fish, 
which  he  swallowed.  I  saw  him  catch  another  in  the  same  manner. 
He  then  took  alarm  at  some  noise  I  made,  and  flew  away  slowly  to 
a  wood  at  some  distance,  where  he  alighted. 

Mr.  A.  Probably  his  nest  was  there,  for  herons  build  upon  the 
loftiest  trees  they  can  find,  and  sometimes  in  society  together,  like 
rooks. 

W.     I  think  they  are  the  largest  wild  birds  we  have. 

Mr.  A.  They  are  of  a  great  length  and  spread  of  wing,  but  their 
bodies  are  comparatively  small. 


250  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

W.  I  then  turned  homeward  and  crossed  the  cornfields  on  the 
way  to  our  house.  I  got  to  the  high  field  next  our  house,  just  as  the 
sun  was  setting,  and  I  stood  looking  at  it  till  it  was  quite  lost.  What 
a  glorious  sight  1  The  clouds  were  tinged  with  purple  and  crimson 
and  yellow  of  all  shades  and  hues,  and  the  clear  sky  varied  from  blue 
to  a  fine  green  at  the  horizon.  But  how  large  the  sun  appears  just 
as  it  sets!  I  think  it  seems  twice  as  big  as  when  it  is  overhead. 

Mr.  A.  It  does  so;  and  you  may  probably  have  observed  the 
same  apparent  enlargement  of  the  moon  at  its  rising.  What  a  num- 
ber of  new  ideas  this  afternoon's  walk  has  afforded  you!  I  do  not 
wonder  that  you  found  it  amusing;  it  has  been  very  instructive, 
too.  Did  you  see  nothing  of  all  these  sights,  Robert? 

R.  I  saw  some  of  them,  but  I  did  not  take  particular  notice  of 
them. 

Mr.  A.     Why  not? 

R.  I  don't  know.  I  did  not  care  about  them,  and  I  made  the 
best  of  my  way  home. 

Mr.  A.  That  would  have  been  right  if  you  had  been  sent  with  a 
message;  but  as  you  only  walked  for  amusement,  it  would  have  been 
wiser  to  have  sought  out  as  many  sources  of  it  as  possible.  But  so 
it  is:  one  person  walks  through  the  world  with  his  eyes  open,  and 
another  with  them  shut;  and  upon  this  difference  depends  all  the 
superiority  of  knowledge  the  one  acquires  above  the  other.  I  have 
known  sailors  who  had  been  in  all  the  quarters  of  the  world,  and 
could  tell  you  nothing  but  the  signs  of  the  tippling-houses  they  fre- 
quented in  the  different  ports,  and  the  price  and  quality  of  the 
liquor.  On  the  other  hand,  a  Franklin  could  not  cross  the  Channel 
without  making  some  observations  useful  to  mankind.  While  many 
a  vacant,  thoughtless  youth  is  whirled  throughout  Europe  without 
gaining  a  single  idea  worth  crossing  a  street  for,  the  observing  eye 
and  inquiring  mind  find  matter  of  improvement  and  delight  in  every 
ramble  in  town  or  country.  Do  you,  then,  William,  continue  to  use 
your  eyes;  and  you,  Robert,  learn  that  eyes  were  given  you  to  use. 

Anna  Letitia  Barbauld,  1743-1825. 

ALMOND   BLOSSOM 

Blossom  of  the  almond  trees, 
April's  gift  to  April's  bees, 
Birthday  ornament  of  spring, 
Flora's  fairest  daughterling  — 
Coming  when  no  flowerets  dare 
Trust  the  cruel  outer  air, 
When  the  royal  king-cup  bold 
Dares  not  don  his  coat  of  gold, 
And  the  sturdy  blackthorn  spray 
Keeps  his  silver  for  the  May  — 
Almond  blossom,  sent  to  teach  us 
That  the  spring  days  soon  will  reach  us, 
Lest,  with  longing  overtried  — 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  251 

We  di&  as  the  violets  died  — 
Blossom,  clouding  all  the  tree 
With  thy  crimson  'broidery, 
Long  before  a  leaf  of  green 
On  the  bravest  bough  is  seen  — 
Ah!  when  winter  winds  are  swinging 
All  thy  red  bells  into  ringing, 
With  a  bee  in  every  bell, 
Almond  bloom,  we  greet  thee  well! 

Sir  Edwin  Arnold,  1832-1904. 

DANIEL 

It  pleased  Darius  to  set  over  the  kingdom  an  hundred 
and  twenty  princes,  which  should  be  over  the  whole 
kingdom;  and  over  these  three  presidents;  of  whom 
Daniel  was  first;  that  the  princes  might  give  accounts 
unto  them  and  the  king  should  have  no  damage. 

Then  this  Daniel  was  preferred  above  the  presidents 
and  princes,  because  an  excellent  spirit  was  in  him;  and 
the  king  thought  to  set  him  over  the  whole  realm. 

Then  the  presidents  and  princes  sought  to  find  occa- 
sion against  Daniel  concerning  the  kingdom;  but  they 
could  find  none  occasion  nor  fault;  forasmuch  as  he 
was  faithful,  neither  was  there  any  error  or  fault  found 
in  him. 

Then  said  these  men,  We  shall  not  find  any  occasion 
against  this  Daniel,  except  we  find  it  against  him  con- 
cerning the  law  of  his  God. 

Then  these  presidents  and  princes  assembled  together 
to  the  king,  and  said  thus  unto  him,  King  Darius,  live 
forever. 

All  the  presidents  of  the  kingdom,  the  governors,  and 
the  princes,  the  counsellors,  and  the  captains,  have  con- 
sulted together  to  establish  a  royal  statute,  and  to  make 
a  firm  decree,  that  whosoever  shall  ask  a  petition  of  any 
God  or  man  for  thirty  days,  save  of  thee,  O  king,  he 
shall  be  cast  into  the  den  of  lions. 

Now,  O  king,  establish  the  decree,  and  sign  the  writ- 
ing, that  it  be  not  changed,  according  to  the  law  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians,  which  altereth  not.  Wherefore 
King  Darius  signed  the  writing  and  the  decree. 

Now  when  Daniel  knew  that  the  writing  was  signed* 


252  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

he  went  into  his  house;  and,  his  windows  being  open 
in  his  chamber  toward  Jerusalem,  he  kneeled  upon  his 
knees  three  times  a  day,  and  prayed,  and  gave  thanks 
before  his  God  as  he  did  aforetime. 

Then  these  men  assembled,  and  found  Daniel  pray- 
ing and  making  supplication  before  his  God. 

Then  they  came  near,  and  spake  before  the  king  con- 
cerning the  king's  decree.  Hast  thou  not  signed  a  de- 
cree, that  every  man  that  shall  ask  a  petition  of  any  God 
or  man  within  thirty  days,  save  of  thee,  O  king,  shall  be 
cast  into  the  den  of  lions? 

The  king  answered  and  said,  The  thing  is  true,  accord- 
ing to  the  law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  which  altereth 
not. 

Then  answered  they  and  said,  before  the  king,  That 
Daniel,  which  is  of  the  children  of  the  captivity  of 
Judah,  regardeth  not  thee,  O  king,  nor  the  decree  that 
thou  hast  signed,  but  maketh  his  petition  three  times  a 
day. 

Then  the  king,  when  he  heard  these  words,  was  sore 
displeased  with  himself,  and  set  his  heart  on  Daniel  to 
deliver  him. 

Then  these  men  assembled  unto  the  king,  and  said 
unto  the  king:  Know,  O  king,  that  the  law  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians  is,  That  no  decree  nor  statute  which 
the  king  establisheth  may  be  changed. 

Then  the  king  commanded,  and  they  brought  Daniel, 
and  cast  him  into  the  den  of  lions.  Now  the  king  spake 
and  said  unto  Daniel,  Thy  God  whom  thou  servest  con- 
tinually, he  will  deliver  thee. 

And  a  stone  was  brought,  and  laid  upon  the  mouth  of 
the  den;  and  the  king  sealed  it  with  his  own  signet,  and 
with  the  signet  of  his  lords;  that  the  purpose  might  not 
be  changed  concerning  Daniel. 

Then  the  king  went  to  his  palace,  and  passed  the 
night  fasting:  neither  were  instruments  of  music  brought 
before  him:  and  his  sleep  went  from  him.  Then  the 
king  arose  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  went  in  haste 
unto  the  den  of  lions. 

And  when  he  came  to  the  den,  he  cried  with  a  lament- 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  253 

able  voice  unto  Daniel:  and  the  king  spake  and  said 
to  Daniel,  O  Daniel,  servant  of  the  living  God,  is  thy 
God,  whom  thou  servest  continually,  able  to  deliver 
thee  from  the  lions? 

Then  said  Daniel  unto  the  king,  O  king,  live  forever. 
My  God  hath  sent  his  angel,  and  hath  shut  the  lions' 
mouths,  that  they  have  not  hurt  me:  forasmuch  as  be- 
fore him  innocency  was  found  in  me;  and  also  before 
thee,  O  king,  have  I  done  no  hurt. 

Then  was  the  king  exceeding  glad  for  him,  and  com- 
manded that  they  should  take  Daniel  up  out  of  the  den. 
So  Daniel  was  taken  up  out  of  the  den,  and  no  manner 
of  hurt  was  found  upon  him,  because  he  believed  in  his 
God. 

Daniel  VI. 

THE  OWL  AND  THE  PUSSY-CAT 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy- Cat  went  to  sea 

In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat: 
They  took  some  honey  and  plenty  of  money 

Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 
The  Owl  looked  up  to  the  stars  above, 

And  sang  to  a  small  guitar, 
"  O  lovely  Pussy,  O  Pussy,  my  love, 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are, 
You  are, 
You  are, 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are!  " 

Pussy  said  to  the  Owl,  "  You  elegant  fowl, 

How  charmingly  sweet  you  sing! 
Oh,  let  us  be  married;  too  long  we  have  tarried: 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring?  " 
They  sailed  away,  for  a  year  and  a  day, 

To  the  land  where  the  bong-tree  grows; 
And  there  in  a  wood  a  Piggy-wig  stood, 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose, 
His  nose, 
His  nose, 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Dear  Pig,  are  you  willing  to  sell  for  one  shilling 

Your  ring?  "     Said  the  Piggy,  "  I  will." 
So  they  took  it  away,  and  were  married  next  day 

By  the  Turkey  who  lives  on  the  hill. 
They  dined  on  mince  and  slices  of  quince, 

Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon; 


254  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

And  hand  in  hand,  on  the  edge  of  the  sand, 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
The  moon, 
The  moon, 

They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
From  "  A  Book  of  Limericks."  Edward  Lear,  1812-1888. 

THANKSGIVING  DAY 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  to  grandfather's  house  we 
go;  the  horse  knows  the  way  to  carry  the  sleigh  through  the  white 
and  drifted  snow.  Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  oh,  how 
the  wind  does  blow!  It  stings  the  toes  and  bites  the  nose,  as  over 
the  ground  we  go.  Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  to  have  a 
first-rate  play;  here  the  bells  ring,  "  Ting-a- ling-ding!  "  Hurrah 
for  Thanksgiving  Day! 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  trot  fast,  my  dapple-gray! 
Spring  over  the  ground,  like  a  hunting  hound,  for  this  is  Thanks- 
giving Day.  Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  and  straight 
through  the  barnyard  gate.  We  seem  to  go  extremely  slow.  It  is 
so  hard  to  wait!  Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  now  grand- 
mother's cap  I  spy!  Hurrah  for  the  fun!  Is  the  pudding  done? 
Hurrah  for  the  pumpkin  pie! 

Lydia  Maria  Child,  1802-1880. 

THE   BLUE    AND    THE    GRAY 
By  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 

Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver, 
Asleep  are  the  ranks  of  the  dead  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  other,  the  Gray. 

These,  in  the  robings  of  glory; 

Those,  in  the  gloom  of  defeat; 
All,  with  the  battle-blood  gory, 
In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  willow,  the  Gray. 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours, 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers, 

Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  255 

So,  with  an  equal  splendor, 

The  morning  sun-rays  fall, 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 
On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue; 

Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 
So,  when  the  summer  calleth, 
On  forest  and  field  of  grain, 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 
The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue; 

Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray. 
Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding, 
The  generous  deed  was  done; 
In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading 
No  braver  battle  was  won  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue; 

Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 
No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever, 

Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red; 
They  banish  our  anger  for  ever, 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead  — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day: 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue; 
Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 

Francis  Miles  Finch. 

VISION  OF  BELSHAZZAR 

The  king  was  on  his  throne,  the  satraps  thronged  the  hall;  a 
thousand  bright  lamps  shone  o'er  that  high  festival.  A  thousand 
cups  of  gold,  in  Judah  deemed  divine,  —  Jehovah's  vessels  hold  the 
godless  heathen's  wine! 

In  that  same  hour  and  hall,  the  fingers  of  a  hand  came  forth 
against  the  wall,  and  wrote  as  if  on  sand.  The  fingers  of  a  man  —  a 
solitary  hand  —  along  the  letters  ran,  and  traced  them  like  a  wand. 

The  monarch  saw,  and  shook,  and  bade  no  more  rejoice;  all 
bloodless  waxed  his  look,  and  tremulous  his  voice.  "  Let  the  men 
of  lore  appear,  the  wisest  of  the  earth,  and  expound  the  words  of  fear 
which  mar  our  royal  mirth."  Chaldea's  seers  are  good,  but  here 
they  have  no  skill  and  the  unknown  letters  stood  untold  and  awful 
still.  And  Babel's  men  of  age  are  wise  and  deep  in  lore;  but  now 
they  were  not  sage:  they  saw,  but  knew  no  more. 


256  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

A  captive  in  the  land,  a  stranger  and  a  youth,  he  heard  the  king's 
command,  he  saw  that  writing's  truth.  The  lamps  around  were 
bright,  the  prophecy  in  view:  he  read  it  on  that  night,  —  the  mor- 
row proved  it  true.  Belshazzar's  grave  is  made,  his  kingdom  passed 
away:  he,  in  the  balance  weighed,  is  light  and  worthless  clay:  the 
shroud  his  robe  of  state,  his  canopy  in  stone;  the  Mede  is  at  his  gate, 
the  Persian  on  his  throne  1  " 

Lord  Byron,  17&8-1824. 

!  POLLY 

Brown  eyes,  straight  nose;  Wide-a-wake;   as  you  hear, 

Dirt  pies,  rumpled  clothes.  "  Mercy's  sake,  quiet,  dear!  " 

Torn  books,  spoilt  toys:  New  shoes,  new  frock; 

Arch  looks,  unlike  a  boy's;  Vague  views  of  what's  o'clock 

Little  rages,  obvious  arts;  When  it's  time  to  go  to  bed, 

(Three  her  age  is)  cakes,  tarts;     And  scorn  sublime  for  what  is  said, 

Falling  down  off  chairs;  Folded  hands,  saying  prayers, 

Breaking  crown  down  stairs;  Understands  not  nor  cares  — 

Catching  flies  on  the  pane:  Thinks  it  odd,  smiles  away; 

Deep  sighs  —  cause  not  plain;         Yet  may  God  hear  her  pray! 

Bribing  you  with  kisses  Bed-gown  white,  kiss  Dolly; 

For  a  few  farthing  blisses.  Good-night!  —  that's  Polly. 

Fast  asleep,  as  you  see, 
Heaven  keep  my  girl  for  me! 

William  Brighty  Rands,  1823-1880. 

JOHN  HALIFAX,  GENTLEMAN 

"  Get  out  of  Mr.  Fletcher's  road,  you  idle,  lounging 
little  —  " 

"  Vagabond,"  I  think  my  old  nurse,  Sally  Watkins, 
was  going  to  say,  but  she  changed  her  mind. 

My  father  and  I  both  glanced  round,  surprised  at 
her  unusual  reticence  of  epithets,  but  when  the  lad  ad- 
dressed turned,  fixed  his  eyes  on  each  of  us  for  a  moment, 
and  made  way  for  us,  we  ceased  to  wonder.  Ragged, 
muddy,  and  miserable  as  he  was,  the  poor  boy  looked 
anything  but  a  "  vagabond." 

"  Thee  need  not  go  out  into  the  wet,  my  lad.  Keep 
close  to  the  wall  and  there  will  be  shelter  enough  both 
for  us  and  thee,"  said  my  father,  as  he  pulled  my  little 
hand  carriage  into  the  alley,  under  cover  from  the  pelt- 
ing rain.  The  lad,  with  a  grateful  look,  put  out  a  hand 
likewise  and  pushed  me  further  in.  ... 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  257 

I  do  not  suppose  my  father  cast  a  single  glance  or 
gave  a  second  thought  to  the  boy  whom  from  a  sense 
of  common  justice  he  had  made  take  shelter  beside  us. 
He  was  longing  to  be  in  his  tanyard  close  by.  He 
pulled  out  his  great  silver  watch.  .  .  . 

"  Twenty-three  minutes  lost  by  this  shower.  Phineas, 
my  son,  how  am  I  to  get  thee  safe  home,  unless  thee 
wilt  go  with  me  first  to  the  tanyard  ?" 

I  shook  my  head.  It  was  very  hard  for  Abel  Fletcher 
to  have  for  his  only  child  such  a  sickly  creature  as  I, 
who,  now  at  sixteen,  was  as  helpless  and  useless  to  him 
as  a  baby. 

"  Well,  well,  then  I  must  find  some  one  to  go  home 
with  thee  " ;  for  though  my  father  had  made  me  a  sort 
of  carriage  in  which,  with  a  little  help,  I  could  propel 
myself,  still  he  never  trusted  me  anywhere  alone. 
"  Here,  Sally  —  Sally  Watkins!  do  any  o'  thy  lads  want 
to  earn  an  honest  penny?  " 

Sally  was  out  of  earshot,  but  I  noticed  that  as  the 
lad  near  us  heard  my  father's  words  he  started  for- 
ward. ...  I  had  not  before  perceived  how  wasted 
and  hungry-looking  he  was.  .  .  . 

"  Sir,  I  want  work;  may  I  earn  the  penny?  "  and 
taking  off  his  tattered  old  cap,  he  looked  in  a  manly, 
fearless  fashion  right  up  into  my  father's  face.  The  old 
man  scanned  him  closely. 

"  What  is  thy  name,  lad?  " 

"  John  Halifax." 

"  Where  dost  thee  come  from?  " 

"  Cornwall." 

"  Hast  thee  any  parents  living?  " 

"  No." 

"  How  old  might  thee  be,  John  Halifax?  " 

"  Fourteen,  sir." 

"  Thee  art  used  to  work?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  sort  of  work?  " 

"  Anything  I  can  get  to  do." 

"  Well,  thee  shall  take  my  son  home,  and  I'll  give 
thee  a  groat.  Shall  I  give  thee  the  groat  now?  " 


258  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Not  till  I  have  earned  it,  sir." 

So,  drawing  his  hand  back,  my  father  slipped  the 
money  into  mine,  and  left  us. 

It  still  rained  slightly,  so  we  remained  under  cover. 
John  Halifax  leaned  in  his  old  place  and  did  not  at- 
tempt to  talk.  Once,  when  the  draught  through  the 
alley  made  me  shiver,  he  pulled  my  cloak  round  me 
carefully. 

"  You  are  not  very  strong,  I'm  afraid." 

"  No." 

As  soon  as  the  rain  ceased  we  took  our  way  home  — 
he  guiding  my  carriage  along  in  silence. 

"  How  strong  you  are!  "  said  I,  sighing,  when,  with  a 
sudden  pull,  he  had  saved  me  from  being  overturned  by 
a  horseman  riding  past. 

"  So  well  and  strong,  am  I  not?  Well,  I  shall  need 
my  strength." 

"  How?  " 

"  To  earn  my  living." 

"  What  have  you  worked  at  lately?  " 

"  Anything  I  could  get,  for  I  have  never  learned  a 
trade." 

"  Should  you  like  to  learn  one?  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Once  I  thought  I  should 
like  to  be  what  my  father  was." 

"  What  was  he?  " 

"  A  scholar  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Then  perhaps  you  would  not  like  to  follow  a  trade." 

"  Yes,  I  should.     What  would  it  matter  to  me?  " 

"  Have  you  been  up  and  down  the  country  much?  " 

"  A  great  deal  these  last  three  years,  doing  a  hand's 
turn  as  best  I  could  at  hop  picking,  apple  gathering, 
and  harvesting;  only  this  summer  I  had  typhus  fever 
and  could  not  work." 

"  What  did  you  do  then?  " 

"  I  lay  in  a  barn  till  I  got  well.  I'm  quite  well 
now;  you  need  not  be  afraid." 

"  No,  indeed.     I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  Ah! "  I  cried  eagerly,  as  we  crossed  the  street, 
"  here  we  are  at  home!  "  . 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  259 

The  homeless  lad  just  glanced  at  the  flight  of  spotless 
stone  steps,  guarded  by  ponderous  railings,  which  led 
to  my  father's  handsome  door.  "  Good-day,  then,"  he 
said,  "  which  means  good-by." 

I  started.  The  word  pained  me.  On  my  sad,  lonely 
life  the  lad's  face  had  come  like  a  flash  of  sunshine. 
To  let  it  go  from  me  was  like  going  back  into  the  dark. 

"  Not  good-by  just  yet!  "  said  I,  trying  painfully  to 
lift  myself  from  my  little  carriage  and  mount  the  steps. 
John  Halifax  came  to  my  aid. 

"  Suppose  you  let  me  carry  you.  I  could  —  and  — 
and  —  it  would  be  great  fun,  you  know." 

He  tried  to  turn  it  into  jest,  so  as  not  to  hurt  me.  I 
put  my  arms  round  his  neck  and  he  lifted  me  safely  and 
carefully,  and  set  me  at  my  own  door.  "  Is  there  any- 
thing more  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?  " 

"  Don't  call  me  '  sir,'  "  I  answered;  "I  am  only  a  boy 
like  yourself.  I  want  you;  don't  go  yet.  Ah!  here 
comes  my  father." 

John  Halifax  stood  aside  and  touched  his  cap  as  the 
old  man  passed. 

"  So  here  thee  art.  Hast  thee  taken  care  of  my  son? 
Did  he  give  thee  thy  groat,  my  lad?  " 

We  had  neither  of  us  once  thought  of  the  money. 

When  I  acknowledged  this  my  father  laughed,  and 
began  searching  in  his  pockets  for  a  larger  coin.  Mean- 
while, John  Halifax  for  the  second  time  was  going 
away. 

"  Stop,  lad;  here  is  thy  groat,  and  a  shilling  added  for 
thy  kindness  to  my  son." 

"  Thank  you;  but  I  do  not  want  payment  for  kind- 
ness." 

He  took  the  groat  and  put  the  shilling  back  into  my 
father's  hand. 

"  Eh?  "  said  the  old  man,  much  astonished,  "  Thee 
art  an  odd  lad,  but  I  can't  stay  talking  with  thee. 
Come  in  to  dinner,  Phineas,  —  I  say,"  turning  back  to 
John  Halifax  with  a  sudden  thought,  "  art  thee  hungry?  " 

"  Very  hungry."  Nature  gave  way  at  last  and  the 
great  tears  came  into  the  poor  boy's  eyes. 


260  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Nearly  starving!  Bless  me!  Then  get  in  and  have 
thy  dinner."  .  .  . 

So,  holding  the  lad  fast,  I  brought  him  into  my 
father's  house. 

When  dinner  was  over  and  my  father  had  returned 
to  the  tanyard,  John  Halifax  came  to  my  easy-chair  and 
asked  me  how  I  felt  and  if  he  could  do  anything  for  me 
before  he  went  away. 

My  entreaty,  "You'll  not  go  away?"  was  so  earnest 
that  it  apparently  touched  the  friendless  boy  to  the 
core. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  in  an  unsteady  voice,  as  lean- 
ing against  the  fireplace  he  drew  his  hand  backward  and 
forward  across  his  face.  "  You  are  very  kind;  I'll 
stay  an  hour  or  so,  if  you  wish  it."  .  .  . 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  garden.  It  is  pleasant  there." 
I  lifted  myself  and  began  searching  for  my  crutches. 
John  found  them  and  put  them  into  my  hand,  with  a 
grave,  pitiful  look. 

"You  don't  need  these  things,"  I  said,  making  pretense 
to  laugh,  for  I  had  not  grown  used  to  them  and  often 
felt  ashamed. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  need  them  always.  I  think,  if 
you  did  not  mind,  I'm  sure  I  could  carry  you.  I  car- 
ried a  meal -sack  once  weighing  eight  stone." 

I  burst  out  laughing,  which  maybe  was  what  he 
wanted,  and  consented  to  assume  the  place  of  the 
meal-sack.  He  took  me  on  his  back  —  what  a  strong 
fellow  he  was,  and  fairly  trotted  with  me  down  the 
garden-walk.  We  were  both  very  merry. 

"  Please  take  me  to  the  clematis  arbor,  it  looks  over 
the  Avon.  Now,  how  do  you  like  our  garden?  " 

"  It's  a  nice  place.  This  grass  plot  is  very  even  — 
thirty  yards  square,  I  should  guess.  I'd  get  up  and 
pace  it,  only  I'm  rather  tired." 

"  Are  you?    Yet  you  would  carry  —  " 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing.  I've  often  walked  farther  than 
to-day.  But  still  it's  a  good  step  across  the  country 
since  morning." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  261 

"  How  far  have  you  come?  " 

"  From  the  foot  of  those  hills  over  there,  I  forget 
what  they  call  them.  This  is  a  very  pretty  view." 

He  stood  gazing  at  it  a  good  while  and  then  went  to 
examine  the  yew  hedge.  .  .  . 

Now,  far  and  near,  our  hedge  was  noted.  There  was 
not  its  like  in  the  whole  country.  It  was  about  fifteen 
feet  high  and  as  many  thick.  Century  after  century  of 
growth  and  careful  clipping  and  training  had  made  it  as 
solid  as  a  wall. 

John  poked  in  and  about  it,  leaning  against  its  branches 
but  their  close  shield  resisted  all  his  strength. 

At  length  he  came  back  to  me,  his  face  glowing  with 
the  vain  efforts  he  had  made. 

"  What  were  you  about?  Did  you  want  to  get 
through?  " 

"  I  wanted  just  to  see  if  it  were  possible." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  What  would  you  do,  John,  if 
you  were  shut  up  here  and  had  to  get  over  the  yew 
hedge?  You  could  not  climb  it." 

"  I  know  that,  and  therefore  I  should  not  waste  time 
in  trying." 

"  Would  you  give  up  then?  " 

He  smiled;  there  was  no  "  giving  up  "  in  that  smile 
of  his.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do;  I'd  begin  and 
break  it,  twig  by  twig,  till  I  forced  my  way  through  and 
got  out  safe  on  the  other  side." 

"  Well  done,  lad!  but  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  thee,  I 
would  rather  thee  did  not  try  that  experiment  upon  my 
hedge  at  present." 

My  father  had  come  behind  and  overheard  us,  un- 
observed. 

"  Didst  thee  say  thee  wanted  work?  Well,  what 
work  canst  thou  do?  " 

"  Anything,"  was  the  eager  answer. 

"  Anything  generally  means  nothing,"  sharply  said  my 
father.  "  What  hast  thee  been  at  all  this  year?  —  The 
truth,  mind!  " 

"  Let  me  think  a  minute  and  I'll  tell  you,"  John  said 
quietly  and  respectfully.  "  All  the  spring  I  was  at  a 


262  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

farmer's,  riding  the  plow  horses  and  hoeing  turnips; 
then  I  went  up  the  hills  with  some  sheep.  In  June  I 
tried  haymaking  and  caught  a  fever  —  you  need  not 
start,  sir;  I've  been  well  these  six  weeks,  or  I  wouldn't 
have  come  near  your  son;  then  — 

"  That  will  do,  my  lad;   I'm  satisfied." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Thee  need  not  say  '  sir.'  It  is  folly.  I  am  Abel 
Fletcher."  For  my  father  retained  the  Friends'  mode  of 
speech. 

"Very  well;  I  will  remember,"  answered  the  boy, 
fearlessly.  .  .  .  "And  now,  Abel  Fletcher,  I  shall  be 
willing  and  thankful  for  any  work  you  can  give  me." 

"  We'll  see  about  it." 

I  looked  gratefully  at  my  father,  but  his  next  words 
rather  modified  my  pleasure. 

"  Phineas,  one  of  my  men  at  the  tanyard  has  enlisted 
this  day.  Dost  thee  think  this  lad  is  fit  to  take  his 
place?  " 

"  Whose  place,  father." 

"  Bill  Watkins's." 

I  was  dumbfounded.  I  had  occasionally  seen  the 
said  Bill  Watkins  whose  business  it  was  to  collect  the 
skins  which  my  father  had  bought  from  the  farmers 
round  about.  A  vision  of  Bill  and  his  cart  on  their  way 
to  the  tanyard  presented  itself  to  me,  and  the  idea  of 
John  Halifax  in  such  a  position  was  not  agreeable.  .  .  . 

"  But,  father,  isn't  there  anything  else?  " 

"  I  have  nothing  else.  He  that  will  not  work,  neither 
shall  he  eat." 

"  I  will  work,"  said  John,  sturdily,  "  I  don't  care 
what  it  is,  if  only  it's  honest  work." 

Abel  Fletcher  turned  his  back  on  me  and  addressed 
himself  solely  to  John  Halifax. 

"  Canst  thee  drive?  " 

"  That  I  can,"  said  John,  and  his  eyes  brightened  with 
boyish  delight. 

"  Tut!  it's  only  a  cart,  the  cart  with  the  skins.  Dost 
thee  know  anything  of  tanning?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  learn." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  263 

"  Hey,  not  so  fast!  still,  better  be  fast  than  slow;  in 
the  meantime,  thee  can  drive  the  cart." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  —  Abel  Fletcher,  I  mean.  I'll  do 
it  well  —  that  is,  as  well  as  I  can." 

"  Here  is  a  week's  pay  in  advance,  and  I  will  pay 
thee  a  shilling  less  every  Saturday  till  we  get  straight." 

"  Very  well,  sir;   and  thank  you." 

John  took  off  his  cap  as  he  spoke  and  Abel  Fletcher 
touched  his  in  return  of  the  salutation.  Then  he  walked 
away  and  we  had  the  garden  to  ourselves. 

I  grasped  John's  hand  and,  looking  up  at  him  as  he 
stood  thoughtfully  by  me,  whispered,  "  that  I  was  very 
glad." 

"  Thank  you,  so  am  I,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone.  Then 
all  his  old  manner  returned.  He  threw  his  battered  cap 
high  in  the  air  and  shouted  out,  "  Hurrah!  "  a  thorough 
boy,  and  I,  in  my  poor  quavering  voice,  shouted  too. 

From  "  John  Halifax,  Gentleman."  Dinah  Mulock  Craik,  1826-1887. 

THE  BLOODLESS  SPORTSMAN 

I  go  a-gunning,  but  take  no  gun; 

I  fish  without  a  pole; 
And  I  bag  good  game  and  catch  such  fish 

As  suit  a  sportman's  soul; 
For  the  choicest  game  that  the  forest  holds, 

And  the  best  fish  of  the  brook, 
Are  never  brought  down  by  a  rifle  shot 

And  never  are  caught  with  a  hook. 

I  bob  for  fish  by  the  forest  brook, 

I  hunt  for  game  in  the  trees, 
For  bigger  birds  than  wing  the  air 

Or  fish  than  swim  the  seas. 
A  rodless  Walton  of  the  brooks, 

A  bloodless  sportsman,  I  — 
I  hunt  for  the  thoughts  that  throng  the  woods, 

The  dreams  that  haunt  the  sky. 

The  woods  were  made  for  the  hunters  of  dreams, 

The  brooks  for  the  fishers  of  song; 
To  the  hunters  who  hunt  for  the  gunless  game 

The  streams  and  the  woods  belong. 
There  are  thoughts  that  moan  from  the  soul  of  the  pine, 

And  thoughts  in  a  flower  bell  curled; 
And  the  thoughts  that  are  blown  with  the  scent  of  the  fern 

Are  as  new  and  as  old  as  the  world. 


264  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

So,  away!  for  the  hunt  in  the  fern-scented  wood 

Till  the  going  down  of  the  sun; 
There  is  plenty  of  game  still  left  in  the  woods 

For  the  hunter  who  has  no  gun. 
So,  away!  for  the  fish  in  the  moss-bordered  brook 

That  flows  through  the  velvety  sod; 
There  are  plenty  of  fish  still  left  in  the  streams 
For  the  angler  who  has  no  rod. 

Sam  Walter  Foss,  1858-1911. 
EDINBURGH  AFTER  FLODDEN 

News  of  battle!  —  news  of  battle!  Hark!  'tis  ringing  down  the 
street:  and  the  archways  and  the  pavement  bear  the  clang  of  hurry- 
ing feet.  News  of  battle!  who  hath  brought  it?  News  of  triumph? 
Who  should  bring  tidings  from  our  noble  army,  greetings  from  our 
gallant  King?  All  last  night  we  watched  the  beacons  blazing  on  the 
hills  afar,  each  one  bearing,  as  it  kindled,  message  of  the  opened  war. 
All  night  long  the  northern  streamers  shot  across  the  trembling  sky: 
fearful  lights  that  never  beckon  save  when  kings  or  heroes  die. 

News  of  battle!  Who  hath  brought  it?  All  are  thronging  to  the 
gate;  "  warder  —  warder!  open  quickly!  Man  —  is  this  a  time  to 
wait?"  And  the  heavy  gates  are  opened:  then  a  murmur  long  and 
loud,  and  a  cry  of  fear  and  wonder  bursts  from  out  the  bending  crowd. 
For  they  sec  in  battered  harness  only  one  hard-stricken  man;  and 
his  weary  steed  is  wounded,  and  his  cheek  is  pale  and  wan:  spearless 
hangs  a  bloody  banner  in  his  weak  and  drooping  hand  —  what!  can 
that  be  Randolph  Murray,  Captain  of  the  city  band? 

Round  him  crush  the  people,  crying,  "Tell  us  all  —  oh,  tell  us 
true!  where  are  they  who  went  to  battle,  Randolph  Murray,  sworn 
to  you?  where  are  they,  our  brothers  —  children?  Have  they  met 
the  English  foe?  Why  art  thou  alone,  unfollowed?  Is  it  weal  or  is 
it  woe?" 

Like  a  corpse  the  grisly  warrior  looks  from  out  his  helm  of  steel; 
but  no  word  he  speaks  in  answer  —  only  with  his  armed  heel  chides 
his  weary  steed,  and  onward  up  the  city  streets  they  ride;  fathers, 
sisters,  mothers,  children,  shrieking,  praying  by  his  side.  "  By  the 
God  that  made  thee,  Randolph .  tell  us  what  mischance  hath  come." 
Then  he  lifts  his  riven  banner,  and  ....  the  asker's  voice  is  dumb. 
The  elders  of  the  city  have  met  within  their  hall  —  the  men  whom 
good  King  James  had  charged  to  watch  the  tower  and  wall.  Then 
in  came  Randolph  Murray,  —  his  step  was  slow  and  weak,  and,  as 
he  doffed  his  dinted  helm,  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheek.  And  up 
then  rose  the  Provost,  —  a  brave  old  man  was  he,  "  Now,  Randolph, 
tell  thy  tidings,  however  sharp  they  be!  Woe  is  written  on  thy 
visage,  death  is  looking  from  thy  face.  Speak!  though  it  be  of  over- 
throw, it  cannot  be  disgrace!  " 

Right  bitter  was  the  agony  that  wrung  that  soldier  proud:  thrice 
did  he  strive  to  answer,  and  thrice  he  groaned  aloud.  Then  he  gave 
the  riven  banner  to  the  old  man's  shaking  hand,  saying,  "  that  is  all 
I  bring  ye  from  the  bravest  of  the  land !  Ay,  ye  may  look  upon  it,  — 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  265 

it  was  guarded  well  and  long,  by  your  brothers  and  your  children, 
by  the  valiant  and  the  strong.  One  by  one  they  fell  around  it,  as 
the  archers  laid  them  low,  grimly  dying,  still  unconquered,  with  their 
faces  to  the  foe.  Sirs!  I  charge  you,  keep  it  holy,  keep  it  as  a  sacred 
thing,  for  the  stain  ye  see  upon  it  was  the  life-blood  of  your  King!  " 

Woe,  and  woe,  and  lamentation!  What  a  piteous  cry  was  there! 
Widows,  maidens,  mothers,  children,  shrieking,  sobbing  in  despair! 
"  Woe  to  us,  and  woe  to  Scotland!  O  our  sons,  our  sons  and  men! 
Surely  some  have  'scaped  the  Southron,  surely  some  will  come  again!" 
"  Till  the  oak  that  fell  last  winter  shall  uprear  its  shattered  stem  — 
wives  and  mothers  of  Dunedin  —  ye  may  look  in  vain  for  them!" 

Then  the  Provost  slowly  rose,  and  his  lip  was  ashen  white;  but  a 
flush  was  on  his  brow,  and  his  eye  was  full  of  light.  "  Thou  hast 
spoken,  Randolph  Murray,  like  a  soldier  stout  and  true;  thou  hast 
done  a  deed  of  daring  had  been  perilled  but  by  few.  But  speak  — 
how  fought  the  citizens?  'Twere  something  still  to  tell  that  no 
Scottish  foot  went  backward  when  the  Royal  Lion  fell!  "  "  No  one 
failed  him!  He  is  keeping  royal  state  and  semblance  still;  knight 
and  noble  lie  around  him,  cold  on  Flodden's  fatal  hill." 

All  is  terror  and  disorder,  till  the  Provost  rises  up,  calm,  as  though 
he  had  not  tasted  of  the  fell  and  bitter  cup.  "  Rouse  ye,  Sirs!  "  he 
said;  "  we  may  not  longer  mourn  for  what  is  done;  if  our  King  be 
taken  from  us,  we  are  left  to  guard  his  son.  Gather  all  our  scattered 
people,  fling  the  banner  out  once  more,  —  Randolph  Murray!  do 
thou  bear  it,  as  it  erst  was  borne  before:  never  Scottish  heart  will 
leave  it,  when  they  see  their  monarch's  gore.  Let  them  cease 
that  dismal  knelling;  it  is  time  enough  to  ring,  when  the  fortress- 
strength  of  Scotland  stoops  to  ruin  like  its  King." 

William  Edmondstoune  Aytoun,  1813-1865. 

A  SMALL  SOLDIER 

Hugh  John  Smith  loved  the  wide  road,  and  every  day 
he  ran  down  the  driveway  and  looked  through  the  bars 
of  the  gate  to  see  who  was  passing.  It  was  a  large 
white  gate  of  strong  wood,  fine  to  swing  on,  if  by  chance 
it  was  left  unfastened. 

On  the  great  day  when  Hugh  John  became  a  soldier 
he  had  been  digging  all  the  morning  in  the  sand  hole. 
He  had  on  his  red  coat,  which  was  his  pride,  and  he  was 
taking  a  fort  protected  by  high  walls  of  sand.  He 
shouted  "Boom!"  when  he  fired  off  his  cannon,  and 
"  Bang,  whack!  "  when  he  knocked  down  the  walls  that 
he  had  so  carefully  patted  into  shape. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  sound  which  always  made  the 
heart  of  Hugh  John  beat  fast.  It  was  the  sound  of  the 


266  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

drum.  He  had  only  time  to  make  a  dash  for  his  soldier's 
cap,  gird  on  his  London  sword  with  the  gold  hilt,  and 
fly. 

As  he  ran  down  the  driveway,  the  sound  of  the  fifes 
grew  louder  and  louder.  It  was  at  this  point  that 
Hugh  John  had  a  great  struggle.  His  brother  and 
sister  were  playing  under  an  elm  tree  on  the  front  lawn. 
He  could  not  bear  that  they  should  miss  the  soldiers. 
But  then,  if  he  went  back,  the  troops  might  be  past  be- 
fore he  reached  the  gate. 

"I  must  see  the  soldiers.  I  must  —  I  must!"  he 
cried. 

But  in  his  heart  a  little  voice  kept  saying,  "It  is 
mean  to  go  off  without  telling  your  brother  and  sister." 

"I  can't  be  mean!  I  won't  be  mean!"  thought 
Hugh  John.  And  so  he  ran  back  with  all  his  might, 
and  with  a  warning  cry  called  the  younger  children  to 
follow.  Then  with  legs  that  passed  each  other  so 
quickly  that  they  could  hardly  be  seen,  Hugh  John 
fairly  flung  himself  toward  the  white  gate. 

The  gate  was  open,  and  with  a  wild  cry  Hugh  John 
stood  on  the  roadside  just  as  the  troops  came  into  view. 

The  first  who  passed  were  soldiers  in  a  dark  uniform. 
No  one  cast  a  glance  at  Hugh  John.  He  stood  with  his 
drawn  sword,  giving  the  salute  as  each  company  went 
by.  Then  came  red  coats  and  brass  bands.  Hugh 
John  saluted  them  all. 

No  one  paid  the  least  attention  to  him.  He  did  not, 
indeed,  expect  any  one  to  notice  him.  He  was  only  a 
small  dusty  boy  with  a  sword  too  big  for  him,  standing 
under  the  shadow  of  the  elms.  But  he  saluted  every 
one  of  them  as  they  swung  past,  dust-choked  and 
thirsty. 

Then  came  more  companies  of  soldiers  and  more 
and  more.  And  ever  the  sword  of  Hugh  John  flashed 
to  the  salute,  and  his  small  arm  grew  weary  as  it  rose 
and  fell. 

Then  happened  something  most  astonishing.  There 
came  to  his  ear  a  new  sound,  the  clatter  of  horse's  hoofs. 
A  bugle  rang  out,  and  Hugh  John's  eyes  watched  the 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  267 

noble  gray  horses  come  tramping  along.  He  stood 
more  erect  than  ever. 

On  they  came,  a  fine  young  officer  at  their  head.  He 
sat  erect  on  a  noble  horse,  leading  one  of  the  finest 
troops  of  horsemen  in  the  world.  He  saw  the  small 
dusty  boy  in  his  red  coat  standing  by  the  roadside,  and 
he  marked  his  pale  face  and  his  erect  bearing. 

Hugh  John  had  Seen  soldiers  before,  but  never  any 
so  fine  as  these.  He  could  hardly  lift  his  sword,  but 
his  hand  was  steady  and  he  went  through  the  beautiful 
movements  of  the  military  salute  with  order  and  pre- 
cision. 

The  young  officer  smiled  and  raised  his  own  sword 
in  response,  as  if  Hugh  John  had  been  one  of  his  own 
troopers.  The  boy's  heart  stood  still.  Could  this 
thing  be?  A  real  soldier  had  saluted  him. 

But  there  was  something  more  wonderful  yet  to 
come.  The  officer  turned  in  his  saddle. 

"  Attention,  men.  Draw  swords!  "  he  cried,  and  his 
voice  rang  like  a  trumpet. 

There  came  a  glitter  of  steel  as  the  swords  flashed 
into  line.  The  horses  tossed  their  heads  at  the  stir- 
ring sound.  "  Eyes  right!  Carry  swords !"  came  again 
the  sharp  command.  And  every  blade  made  a  circle 
of  glittering  light  as  it  rose  to  the  salute. 

Tears  welled  up  in  Hugh  John's  eyes  as  he  stood  there 
in  the  pride  of  the  honor  done  to  him.  He  had  been 
treated  as  a  real  soldier  by  the  greatest  soldier  there. 
He  was  no  longer  a  little  dusty  boy.  Now  he  was  a 
soldier  indeed. 

The  regiment  passed  by,  and  only  the  far  drum  beats 
came  back  as  Hugh  John  stood  silent  under  the  elm 
tree.  When  his  father  rode  up  on  his  way  home,  he 
asked  the  boy  what  he  was  doing  there. 

Hugh  John  wanted  to  laugh,  but  the  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks.  "I'm  not  hurt,  father,"  he  said,  "I'm 
not  crying.  It  was  only  that  the  Scots  Greys  saluted 
me.  But  I'm  not  crying,  I'm  not  indeed!  " 

Then  the  stern  man  gathered  the  soldier  up  and  set 
him  across  his  saddle.  And  thus  rode  our  hero  home. 


268  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Late  that  night  Hugh  John  stole  down  the  hushed 
driveway,  his  bare  feet  pattering  through  the  dust 
which  the  dew  was  making  cool.  He  stood  again  by 
the  roadside  where  he  had  seen  the  troops  march  by. 
Then  clasping  his  hands  he  made  a  solemn  vow. 

"  The  Scots  Greys  saluted  me.  Never,  never,  so  long 
as  I  live,  will  I  be  mean!  " 

From  "Sir  Toady  Lion."  S.  R.  Crockett. 

THE   ROBBERS 

Alexander.  What!  art  thou  that  Thracian  robber,  of  whose 
exploits  I  have  heard  so  much? 

Robber.     I  am  a  Thracian,  and  a  soldier. 

A.  A  soldier!  —  a  thief,  a  plunderer,  an  assassin!  the  pest  of  the 
country!  I  could  honor  thy  courage,  but  I  must  detest  and  punish 
thy  crimes. 

R     What  have  I  done  of  which  you  can  complain? 

A.  Hast  thou  not  set  at  defiance  my  authority,  violated  the 
public  peace,  and  passed  thy  life  in  injuring  the  persons  and  proper- 
ties of  thy  fellow-subjects? 

R.  Alexander,  I  am  your  captive.  I  must  hear  what  you  please 
to  say,  and  endure  what  you  please  to  inflict.  But  my  soul  is  un- 
conquered;  and  if  I  reply  at  all  to  your  reproaches,  I  will  reply  like 
a  free  man. 

A.  Speak  freely.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  take  the  advantage  of 
my  power,  to  silence  those  with  whom  I  deign  to  converse. 

R.  I  must,  then,  answer  your  question  by  another.  How  have 
you  passed  your  life? 

A.  Like  a  hero.  Ask  Fame,  and  she  will  tell  you.  Among  the 
brave,  I  have  been  the  bravest;  among  sovereigns,  the  noblest; 
among  conquerors,  the  mightiest. 

R.  And  does  not  Fame  speak  of  me  too?  Was  there  ever  a 
bolder  captain  of  a  more  valiant  band?  Was  there  ever  —  But 
I  scorn  to  boast.  You  yourself  know  that  I  have  not  been  easily 
subdued.  . 

A.     Still  what  are  you  but  a  robber  —  a  base,  dishonest  robber? 

R.  And  what  is  a  conqueror?  Have  not  you  too  gone  about 
the  earth  like  an  evil  genius,  blasting  the  fair  fruits  of  peace  and  in- 
dustry, plundering,  ravaging,  killing,  without  law,  without  justice, 
merely  to  gratify  an  insatiable  thirst  for  dominion?  All  that  I  have 
done  to  a  single  district,  with  a  hundred  followers,  you  have  done 
to  whole  nations,  with  a  hundred  thousand. 

If  I  have  stripped  individuals,  you  have  ruined  kings  and  princes. 
If  I  have  burned  a  few  hamlets,  you  have  desolated  the  most  flourish- 
ing kingdoms  and  cities  of  the  earth.  What,  then,  is  the  difference, 
but  that,  as  you  were  born  a  king,  and  I  a  private  man,  you  have 
been  able  to  become  a  mightier  robber  than  I? 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  269 

A.  But  if  I  have  taken  like  a  king,  I  have  given  like  a  king. 
If  I  have  subverted  empires,  I  have  founded  greater.  I  have 
cherished  arts,  commerce,  and  philosophy. 

R.  I  too  have  freely  given  to  the  poor  what  I  took  from  the  rich. 
I  have  established  order  and  discipline  among  the  most  ferocious 
of  mankind,  and  have  stretched  out  my  protecting  arm  over  the 
oppressed.  I  know,  indeed,  little  of  the  philosophy  you  talk  of; 
but  I  believe  neither  you  nor  I  shall  ever  atone  to  the  world  for  the 
mischief  we  have  done  it. 

A.  Leave  me.  Take  off  his  chains,  and  use  him  well.  Are  we, 
then,  so  much  alike?  Alexander  like  a  robber?  Let  me  reflect. 

Not  known. 

THE  HOUSE  THAT  JACK  BUILT  \ 

"  Mr.  Conductor,"  said  a  little  boy  as  he  pulled  at  a 
gilt-buttoned  sleeve,  "  please  tell  me  a  story."  "  Bless 
me,"  said  the  conductor  of  train  No.  55.  The  train 
had  just  pulled  out,  and  as  there  was  a  long  run  without 
a  stop,  the  tired  conductor  had  dropped  into  a  back 
seat  to  rest  a  bit  when  Louis  came  up  and  asked  for  a 
story. 

"  Bless  me,"  exclaimed  the  conductor,  "  I  don't  know 
a  story  except  '  Here  is  the  house  that  Jack  built.'  " 

"  Don't  tell  me  that,"  answered  the  little  boy.  "  I 
know  that  myself,"  and  he  began  to  rattle  it  off. 

This  is  the  house  that  Jack  built.  This  is  the  malt  that  lay  in 
the  house  that  Jack  built.  This  is  the  rat  that  ate  the  malt  that  lay 
in  the  house  that  Jack  built. 

This  is  the  cat  that  caught  the  rat,  that  ate  the  malt,  that  lay  in 
the  house  that  Jack  built.  This  is  the  dog,  that  worried  the  cat, 
that  caught  the  rat,  that  ate  the  malt,  that  lay  in  the  house  that 
Jack  built. 

This  is  the  cow,  with  the  crumpled  horn,  that  tossed  the  dog,  that 
worried  the  cat,  that  caught  the  rat,  that  ate  the  malt,  that  lay  in  the 
house  that  Jack  built. 

This  is  the  maiden  all  forlorn,  that  milked  the  cow  with  the 
crumpled  horn,  that  tossed  the  dog,  that  worried  the  cat,  that  caught 
the  rat,  that  ate  the  malt,  that  lay  in  the  house  that  Jack  built. 

"Stop  right  there!"  said  the  conductor;  "that  re- 
minds me  of  something.  On  my  last  trip  East,  as  I 
went  through  one  of  the  coaches  to  look  at  tickets  I 
found  a  little  girl  about  your  size  sitting  by  herself. 
"  Tickets,"  I  said  without  thinking. 

"  Mamma  has  'em,"  she  said,  "  an'  she's  gone  to  get 
a  drink  of  water.  But  won't  you  please  take  my  orange 


270  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

to  that  little  girl  back  there  with  the  red  handkerchief 
on  her  head?  Her  mamma  has  forgot  to  give  her  any." 

I  looked  for  the  little  girl  with  the  red  handkerchief, 
and  saw  a  poor  woman  with  five  children.  They  didn't 
look  as  if  they  had  had  much  to  eat,  but  nobody  was 
paying  any  attention  to  them.  "  Maybe  your  mamma 
won't  like  you  to  give  away  your  orange,"  I  said. 

The  little  girl  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  and  said: 
"  Why,  my  mamma  loves  me  to  give  things!" 

"All  right,"  said  I,  and  I  went  back  to  the  little 
party  and  gave  the  orange  to  the  little  girl;  and  I  said 
in  a  loud  tone  of  voice:  "  This  is  from  a  little  girl  whose 
mamma  loves  her  to  give  things."  At  that  ever  so 
many  mothers  pricked  up  their  ears,  and  presently  I 
saw  another  little  girl  bring  a  box  of  lunch  to  the  poor 
children.  "  Ah,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  this  is  like  that 
old  song  about  the  house  that  Jack  built.  This  is  the 
cat,  -  "  then  a  lady  pulled  a  pretty  little  cap  out  of  her 
bag  and  said:  "  Won't  you  let  your  little  girl  wear  this 
tam-o'-shanter?"  And  not  only  that,  here  was  a  boy 
giving  something  out  of  his  pocket  —  I  don't  know  what. 
So  it  went  on,  till  those  forlorn  little  chicks  had  lots  of 
things,  all  because  one  little  kind  heart  gave  them  her 
orange. 

"  And  now,  small  boy,  get  off  my  knee.  I've  got  to 
ring  the  bell  for  the  engineer  to  whistle.  Go  and  see  if 
you  can't  start  another  '  house  that  Jack  built.' ' 

Not  known. 

THE  MOON-CHILD 

A  little  lonely  child  am  I 

That  have  not  any  soul; 
God  made  me  but  a  homeless  wave, 

Without  a  goal. 

A  seal  my  father  was,  a  seal 

That  once  was  man; 
My  mother  loved  him  tho'  he  was 

'Neath  mortal  ban. 

He  took  a  wave  and  drowned  her, 

She  took  a  wave  and  lifted  him: 
And  I  was  born  where  shadows  are 

I'  the  sea-depths  dim. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  271 

All  through  the  sunny  blue-sweet  hours 

I  swim  and  glide  in  waters  green: 
Never  by  day  the  mournful  shores 

By  me  are  seen. 

But  when  the  gloom  is  on  the  wave, 

A  shell  unto  the  shore  I  bring; 
And  then  upon  the  rocks  I  sit 

And  plaintive  sing. 

O  what  is  this  wild  song  I  sing, 

With  meanings  strange  and  dim? 
No  soul  am  I,  a  wave  am  I, 

And  sing  the  Moon-Child's  hymn. 

Fiona  Macleod  (William  Sharp),  1856-1905. 

THE  FLAX 

The  Flax  stood  in  blossom;  it  had  pretty  little  blue 
flowers,  delicate  as  a  moth's  wings,  and  even  more  deli- 
cate. The  sun  shone  on  the  Flax,  and  the  rain  clouds 
moistened  it,  and  this  was  just  as  good  for  it  as  it  is 
for  little  children  when  they  are  washed,  and  after- 
ward get  a  kiss  from  their  mother;  they  become  much 
prettier,  and  so  did  the  Flax. 

"  The  people  say  that  I  stand  uncommonly  well," 
said  the  Flax,  "and  that  I'm  fine  and  long,  and  shall 
make  a  capital  piece  of  linen.  How  happy  I  am.  I'm 
certainly  the  happiest  of  beings.  How  well  I  am  off! 
And  I  may  come  to  something!  How  the  sunshine 
gladdens,  and  the  rain  tastes  good  and  refreshes  me! 
I'm  the  happiest  of  beings." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  said  the  Hedge-stake.  "You 
don't  know  the  world,  but  we  do,  for  we  have  knots  in 
us;"  and  then  it  creaked  out  mournfully: 

"  Snip-snap-snurre,  Bassellurre!    The  song  is  done." 

"  No,  it  is  not  done,"  said  the  Flax.  "  To-morrow 
the  sun  will  shine,  or  the  rain  will  refresh  us.  I  feel 
that  I'm  growing,  I  feel  that  I'm  in  blossom.  I'm 
the  happiest  of  beings." 

But  one  day  the  people  came  and  took  the  Flax  by 
the  head  and  pulled  it  up  by  the  root.  That  hurt;  and 
it  was  laid  in  water  as  if  they  were  going  to  drown  it, 
and  then  put  it  on  the  fire  as  if  it  was  going  to  be  roasted. 
It  was  quite  fearful! 


272  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  One  can't  always  have  good  times,"  said  the  Flax. 
"One  must  make  one's  own  experiences,  and  so  one 
gets  to  know  something." 

But  bad  times  certainly  came.  The  Flax  was  mois- 
tened and  roasted,  and  broken  and  hackled.  Yes,  it 
did  not  even  know  what  the  operations  were  called  that 
they  did  with  it.  It  was  put  on  the  spinning  wheel  — 
whirr!  whirr!  whirr  —  it  was  not  possible  to  collect  one's 
thoughts. 

"  I  have  been  uncommonly  happy!  "  it  thought  in  all 
its  pain.  "  One  must  be  content  with  the  good  one  has 
enjoyed!  Contented!  contented!  Oh!"  And  it  con- 
tinued to  say  that  when  it  was  put  into  the  loom,  and 
until  it  became  a  large  beautiful  piece  of  linen.  All  the 
Flax,  to  the  last  stalk,  was  used  in  making  one  piece. 

"  But  this  is  quite  remarkable!  I  should  never  have 
believed  it!  How  favorable  fortune  is  to  me!  The 
Hedge-stake  was  well  informed,  truly,  with  its 

"  Snip-snap-snurre,  Bassellurre! 

"  The  song  is  not  done  by  any  means.  Now  it's  be- 
ginning in  earnest.  That's  quite  remarkable!  If  I've 
suffered  something,  I've  been  made  into  something! 
I'm  the  happiest  of  all!  How  strong  and  fine  I  am,  and 
how  white  and  long!  That's  something  different  from 
being  a  mere  plant ;  even  if  one  bears  flowers,  one  is  not 
attended  to,  and  only  gets  watered  when  it  rains.  Now 
I'm  attended  to  and  cherished:  the  maid  turns  me  over 
every  morning,  and  I  get  a  shower  bath  from  the  water- 
ing pot  every  evening.  Yes,  the  clergyman's  wife  has 
even  made  a  speech  about  me,  and  says  I'm  the  best 
piece  in  the  whole  parish.  I  cannot  be  happier!" 

Now  the  linen  was  taken  into  the  house,  and  put 
under  the  scissors:  how  they  cut  and  tore  it  and  then 
pricked  it  with  needles!  1'hat  was  not  pleasant;  but 
twelve  pieces  of  body  linen,  of  a  kind  not  often  men- 
tioned by  name,  but  indispensable  to  all  people,  were 
made  of  it  —  a  whole  dozen ! 

"  Just  look !  Now  something  has  really  been  made  of 
me!  So  that  was  my  destiny.  That's  a  real  blessing. 
Now  I  shall  be  of  some  use  in  the  world,  and  that's 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  273 

right,  that's  a  true  pleasure!  We've  been  made  into 
twelve  things,  but  yet  we're  all  one  and  the  same; 
we're  just  a  dozen:  how  remarkably  charming  that  is!" 

Years  rolled  on,  and  now  they  would  hold  together  no 
longer. 

"  It  must  be  over  one  day,"  said  each  piece,  "  I 
would  gladly  have  held  together  a  little  longer,  but  one 
must  not  expect  impossibilities." 

They  were  now  torn  into  pieces  and  fragments.  They 
thought  it  was  all  over  now,  for  they  were  hacked  to 
shreds,  and  softened  and  boiled;  yes,  they  themselves 
did  not  know  all  that  was  done  to  them;  and  then  they 
became  beautiful  white  paper. 

"  Now,  that  is  a  surprise,  and  a  glorious  surprise!" 
said  the  paper.  "Now,  I'm  finer  than  before,  and  I 
shall  be  written  on:  that  is  remarkably  good  fortune." 

And  really  the  most  beautiful  stories  and  verses  were 
written  upon  it,  and  only  once  there  came  a  blot;  that 
was  certainly  remarkably  good  fortune.  And  the 
people  heard  what  was  upon  it;  it  was  sensible  and 
good,  and  made  people  much  more  sensible  and  better: 
there  was  a  great  blessing  in  the  words  that  were  on 
this  paper. 

"  That  is  more  than  I  ever  imagined  when  I  was  a 
little  blue  flower  in  the  fields.  How  could  I  fancy  that 
I  should  ever  spread  joy  and  knowledge  among  men? 
I  can't  yet  understand  it  myself,  but  it  is  really  so.  I 
have  done  nothing  but  what  I  was  obliged  with  my 
weak  powers  to  do  for  my  own  preservation,  and  yet  I 
have  been  promoted  from  one  joy  and  honor  to  an- 
other. Each  time  when  I  think  '  the  song  is  done,'  it 
begins  again  in  a  higher  and  better  way.  Now  I  shall 
certainly  be  sent  about  to  journey  through  the  world, 
so  that  all  people  may  read  me.  That  cannot  be  other- 
wise; it's  the  only  probable  thing.  I've  splendid 
thoughts,  as  many  as  I  had  pretty  flowers,  in  the  old 
times.  I'm  the  happiest  of  beings." 

But  the  paper  was  not  sent  on  its  travels;  it  was 
sent  to  the  printer,  and  everything  that  was  written 
upon  it  was  set  up  in  type  for  a  book,  or  rather  for  many 


274  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

hundreds  of  books,  for  in  this  way  a  far  greater  num- 
ber could  derive  pleasure  and  profit  from  the  book 
than  if  the  one  paper  on  which  it  was  written  had  run 
about  the  world,  to  be  worn  out  before  it  had  got  half- 
way. 

"  Yes,  that  is  certainly  the  wisest  way,"  thought  the 
Written  Paper.  "  I  really  did  not  think  of  that.  I 
shall  stay  at  home,  and  be  held  in  honor,  just  like  an 
old  grandfather;  and  I  am  really  the  grandfather  of  all 
these  books.  Now  something  can  be  effected:  I  could 
not  have  wandered  about  thus.  He  who  wrote  all  this 
looked  at  me ;  every  word  flowed  from  his  pen  right  into 
me.  I  am  the  happiest  of  all." 

Then  the  Paper  was  tied  together  in  a  bundle,  and 
thrown  into  a  tub  that  stood  in  the  wash  house. 

"  It's  good  resting  after  work,"  said  the  Paper.  "  It 
is  very  right  that  one  should  collect  one's  thoughts. 
Now  I'm  able  for  the  first  time  to  think  of  what  is  in 
me,  and  to  know  oneself  is  true  progress.  What  will  be 
done  with  me  now?  At  any  rate  I  shall  go  forward 
again;  I'm  always  going  forward.  I've  found  that 
out." 

Now,  one  day  all  the  Paper  was  taken  out,  and  laid 
by  on  the  hearth;  it  was  to  be  burned,  for  it  might  not 
be  sold  to  hucksters  to  be  used  for  covering  for  butter 
and  eggs,  they  said.  And  all  the  children  in  the  house 
stood  round  about,  for  they  wanted  to  see  the  Paper 
burn,  that  flamed  up  so  prettily,  and  afterward  one 
could  see  so  many  red  sparks  among  the  ashes,  career- 
ing here  and  there.  One  after  another  faded  out  quick 
as  the  wind,  and  that  they  called  "  seeing  the  children 
come  out  of  school,"  and  the  last  spark  was  the  school- 
master. All  the  old  Paper,  the  whole  bundle,  was  laid 
upon  the  fire,  and  it  was  soon  alight.  "  Ugh!"  it  said, 
and  burst  out  into  bright  flame.  "Ugh!  that  was  not 
very  agreeable;"  but  when  the  whole  was  wrapped  in 
bright  flames  these  mounted  up  higher  than  the  Flax 
had  ever  been  able  to  lift  its  little  blue  flowers,  and 
glittered  as  the  White  Linen  had  never  been  able  to 
glitter.  All  the  written  letters  turned  for  a  moment 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  275 

quite  red,  and  all  the  words  and  thoughts  turned  to 
flame. 

"  Now  I'm  mounting  straight  up  to  the  sun,"  said  a 
voice  in  the  flame;  and  it  was  as  if  a  thousand  voices 
said  this  in  unison;  and  the  flames  mounted  up  through 
the  chimney  and  out  at  the  top,  and,  more  delicate  than 
the  flames,  invisible  to  human  eyes,  little  tiny  beings 
floated  there,  as  many  as  there  had  been  blossoms  on 
the  Flax.  They  were  lighter  even  than  the  flames  from 
which  they  were  born;  and  when  the  flame  was  ex- 
tinguished, and  nothing  remained  of  the  Paper  but 
black  ashes,  they  danced  over  it  once  more,  and  where 
they  touched  the  black  mass  the  little  red  sparks  ap- 
peared. The  children  came  out  of  school,  and  the  school- 
master was  the  last  of  all.  That  was  fun!  and  the 
children  sang  over  the  dead  ashes: 

"  Snip-snap-snurre,  Bassellurre!  The  song  is  done."  • 

But  the  little  invisible  beings  all  said: 

"  The  song  is  never  done,  that  is  the  best  of  all.  I 
know  it,  and  therefore  I'm  the  happiest  of  all." 

But  the  children  could  neither  hear  that  nor  under- 
stand it,  nor  ought  they,  for  children  must  not  know 
everything. 

From  "  Fairy  Tales  and  Stories."  Hans  Christian  Andersen,  1805-1875. 

A  RIDDLE 

I  have  only  one  foot,  but  thousands  of  toes; 
My  one  foot  stands,  but  never  goes; 
I  have  many  arms  and  they're  mighty  all; 
And  hundreds  of  fingers,  large  and  small. 
None  e'er  saw  me  eat  —  I've  no  mouth  to  bite; 
Yet  I  feed  all  day  in  the  full  sunlight; 
In  the  summer  with  song  I  shake  and  quiver, 
But  in  winter  I  fast  and  groan  and  shiver. 

George  Macdonald,  1824-1905. 

THE  CORN  SONG 

Heap  high  the  farmer's  wintry  hoard!  Heap  high  the  golden 
corn!  No  richer  gift  has  Autumn  poured  from  out  her  lavish  horn! 

Let  other  lands,  exulting,  glean  the  apple  from  the  pine,  the 
orange  from  its  glossy  green,  the  cluster  from  the  vine. 

We  better  love  the  hardy  gift  our  rugged  vales  bestow,  to  cheer 
us  when  the  storm  shall  drift  our  harvest-fields  with  snow. 

Through  vales  of  grass  and  meads  of  flowers,  our  ploughs  their 


276  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

furrows  made,  while  on  the  hills  the  sun  and  showers  of  changeful 
April  played. 

We  dropped  the  seed  o'er  hill  and  plain,  beneath  the  sun  of  May, 
and  frightened  from  our  sprouting  grain  the  robber  crows  away. 

All  through  the  long,  bright  days  of  June  its  leaves  grew  green 
and  fair,  and  waved  in  hot  midsummer's  noon  its  soft  and  yellow  hair. 

And  now,  with  autumn's  moon-lit  eves,  its  harvest  time  has  come, 
we  pluck  away  the  frosted  leaves,  and  bear  the  treasure  home. 

There,  richer  than  the  fabled  gift  Apollo  showered  of  old,  fair 
hands  the  broken  grain  shall  sift,  and  knead  its  meal  of  gold. 

Let  vapid  idlers  loll  in  silk  around  their  costly  board;  give  us  the 
bowl  of  samp  and  milk,  by  homespun  beauty  poured! 

Where'er  the  wide  old  kitchen  hearth  sends  up  its  smoky  curls, 
who  will  not  thank  the  kindly  earth,  and  bless  our  farmer  girls! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  1807-1892. 

GIVE    THEM    A    PLACE    TO    PLAY 

Plenty  of  room  for  dives  and  dens  (glitter  and  glare  and  sin!) 
Plenty  of  room  for  prison  pens  (gather  the  criminals  in!) 
Plenty  of  room  for  jails  and  courts  (willing  enough  to  pay!) 
But  never  a  place  for  the  lads  to  race;   no,  never  a  place  to  play! 
Plenty  of  room  for  shops  and  stores  (Mammon  must  have  the  best!) 
Plenty  of  room  for  the  running  sores  that  rot  in  the  city's  breast! 
Plenty  of  room  for  the  lures  that  lead  the  hearts  of  our  youth  astray, 
But  never  a  cent  on  a  playground  spent;  no,  never  a  place  to  play! 
Plenty  of  room  for  schools  and  halls,  plenty  of  room  for  art; 
Plenty  of  room  for  teas  and  balls,  platform,  stage,  and  mart. 
Proud  is  the  city  —  she  finds  a  place  for  many  a  fad  to-day, 
But  she's  more  than  blind  if  she  fails  to  find  a  place  for  the  boys  to 

play! 

Give  them  a  chance  for  innocent  sport,  give  them  a  chance  for  fun  — 
Better  a  playground  plot  than  a  court  and  a  jail  when  the  harm  is 

done! 
Give  them  a  chance  —  if  you  stint  them  now,  to-morrow  you'll  have 

to  pay 

A  larger  bill  for  a  darker  ill,  so  give  them  a  place  to  play! 
From  "  A  Round  of  Rimes,"  by  special  Denis  A.  McCarthy,  1871- 

pertnisaion  of  the  author. 

TOMMY'S  OPINION  OF  CROWS 

It  is  very  hard  to  fool  a  crow.  He  knows  that  men 
and  boys  are  no  friends  of  his;  and  he  knows,  too,  just 
as  well  as  any  one  can,  what  guns  are  for.  He  will  let 
you  get  pretty  close,  if  you  have  no  gun;  but  if  you 
have  one,  he  sees  it,  and  the  way  he  calls  "  caw,  caw," 
to  the  rest  of  the  crows  to  look  out  shows  that  he  knows 
there  is  danger.  And  they  do  look  out. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  277 

You  go  out  some  morning  with  a  shotgun  and  you 
see  one  of  the  black  fellows  perched  on  a  high  tree. 
"  Ha,"  you  say  to  yourself,  "  I  will  get  behind  that  wall 
and  creep  up  and  take  a  shot  at  him."  You  try  it. 
You  bend  down  and  get  all  wet  by  the  dew,  and  the 
briers  scratch  you.  If  you  are  not  careful,  you  step  on 
a  bumblebee's  nest,  maybe,  and  all  the  time  you  keep 
thinking,  "  When  I  get  to  that  bush  I  will  fix  him." 

But  he  has  seen  you  all  the  time.  He  saw  you  be- 
fore you  saw  him.  That  was  what  he  was  there  for  — 
to  look  out  for  boys  with  guns.  He  knows  just  how  far 
the  gun  will  shoot;  if  you  think  he  is  going  to  stay  till 
you  get  to  the  bush,  why,  you  miss  your  guess. 

Pretty  soon,  when  you  are  about  a  rod  from  the  bush, 
and  don't  dare  to  look  up  for  fear  that  he  will  see  you, 
you  hear,  "  haw!  haw!  haw!  "  Then  you  do  look,  and 
—  there  goes  your  crow.  No,  you  can't  fool  a  crow. 
He  is  smarter  than  any  boy.  I  have  been  out  day  after 
day  to  get  a  shot  at  a  crow,  and  I  have  almost  got 
hundreds,  but  I  never  quite  got  one. 

I  have  tried  to  catch  those  birds  while  they  were 
feeding  in  the  corn.  I  used  to  think  they  might  be  like 
boys  —  so  busy  when  they  eat  that  they  don't  notice 
what  is  going  on.  But,  do  you  know,  they  keep  a 
watchman  out  when  they  feed.  He  watches  from  a 
tree  for  a  while,  and  then  another  crow  comes  and  takes 
the  first  one's  place;  the  first  one  goes  down,  and  after 
some  time  a  third  crow  relieves  the  second  one,  and  so 
on.  Oh,  you  can't  fool  crows!  1 

I  have  slipped  down  toward  the  cornfield,  and  long 
before  I  reached  it  the  watchman  would  caw,  and  the 
other  crows  would  come  up  out  of  the  corn  by  the 
dozen.  They  would  fly  a  little  way  and  light,  and 
wait  for  me  to  leave,  and  then  back  they  would  go. 

One  day  Sam  and  Will  went  with  me  into  the  corn- 
field; I  hid  and  they  went  out  in  such  a  way  that  the 
crows  could  see  them.  We  thought  that  the  black  fel- 
lows were  not  smart  enough  in  arithmetic  to  tell  that 
two  from  three  left  anything.  But  they  could  figure  that 
out.  We  didn't  fool  them.  They  knew  there  was  one 


278  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

boy  in  that  corn,  for  three  boys  went  in  and  only  two 
came  out. 

Next  day  we  tried  the  crows  in  figures  again,  for  we 
took  Jim  along.  But  they  reckoned  it  up  and  yelled  to 
one  another  that  three  boys  from  four  boys  left  one 
boy  —  left  him  in  the  corn  with  a  gun. 

Next  day  we  gave  them  another  sum.  That  time 
Ben  went  with  us;  five  boys  in  and  four  boys  out. 
Four  from  five  was  farther  than  they  had  gone  in  arith- 
metic in  the  crow  school,  and,  as  soon  as  the  four  boys 
had  gone,  back  into  the  corn  flew  the  crows.  I  jumped 
up  and  fired  at  them,  and  you  never  saw  such  aston- 
ished crows  in  all  your  life.  They  thought  four  boys 
from  five  boys  left  no  boy  —  in  the  corn  with  a  gun. 

I  didn't  hit  any  of  them,  but  I  found  out  just  how 
far  a  crow  can  figure.  No,  you  can't  fool  crows  —  not 
by  any  fair  means.  Of  course,  when  you  take  them  in 
arithmetic  you  don't  give  them  a  fair  chance.  I  don't 
blame  them  for  not  being  sharp  in  figures.  Arithmetic 
troubles  even  me  sometimes. 

Not  known. 

HARRY'S    RICHES 

One  day,  our  little  Harry  spent  the  morning  with  his  young  play- 
mate, Johnny  Crane,  who  lived  in  a  fine  house,  and  on  Sundays  rode 
to  church  in  the  grandest  carriage  to  be  seen  in  all  the  country  round. 

When  Harry  returned  home,  he  said,  "  Mother,  Johnny  has 
money  in  both  pockets!  " 

"  Has  he,  dear?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am;  and  he  says  he  could  get  ever  so  much  more  if  he 
wanted  it." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  very  pleasant  for  him,"  I  returned,  cheer- 
fully, as  a  reply  was  plainly  expected.  "  Very  pleasant;  don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am;  only  —  " 

"  Only  what,  Harry?  " 

"Why,  he  has  a  big  pop-gun,  and  a  watch,  and  a  hobby-horse, 
and  lots  of  things."  And  Harry  looked  up  at  my  face  with  a  dis- 
consolate stare. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  of  that?  " 

"  Nothing,  mother,"  and  the  tell-tale  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes, 
"  only  I  guess  we  are  very  poor,  aren't  we?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Harry,  we  are  very  far  from  being  poor.  We  are 
not  so  rich  as  Mr.  Crane's  family,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  279 

"  O  mother!  "  insisted  the  little  fellow,  "  I  do  think  we  are  very 
poor;  anyhow,  I  am!  " 

"  O  Harry!  "  I  exclaimed,  reproachfully. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  he  sobbed;  "  I  have  scarcely  anything  —  I  mean 
anything  that's  worth  money  —  except  things  to  eat  and  wear,  and 
I'd  have  to  have  them  any  way." 

"  Have  to  have  them?  "  I  echoed,  at  the  same  time  laying  my 
sewing  upon  the  table,  so  that  I  might  reason  with  him  on  that  point; 
"  do  you  not  know,  my  son  —  " 

Just  then  Uncle  Ben  looked  up  from  the  paper  he  had  been  read- 
ing: "Harry,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  find  out  something  about  eyes;  so, 
if  you  will  let  me  have  yours,  I  will  give  you  a  dollar  apiece  for  them." 

"  For  my  eyes!"  exclaimed  Harry,  very  much  astonished. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  Uncle  Ben,  quietly,  "  for  your  eyes.  I  will  give 
you  chloroform,  so  it  will  not  hurt  you  in  the  least,  and  you  shall 
have  a  beautiful  glass  pair  for  nothing,  to  wear  in  their  place.  Come, 
a  dollar  apiece,  cash  down!  What  do  you  say?  I  will  take  them 
out  as  quick  as  a  wink." 

"  Give  you  my  eyes,  uncle!"  cried  Harry,  looking  wild  at  the  very 
thought,  "  I  think  not."  And  the  startled  little  fellow  shook  his 
head  defiantly. 

"  Well,  five,  ten,  twenty  dollars,  then."  Harry  shook  his  head 
at  every  offer. 

"  No,  sir!  I  wouldn't  let  you  have  them  for  a  thousand  dollars! 
What  could  I  do  without  my  eyes?  I  couldn't  see  mother,  nor  the 
baby,  nor  the  flowers,  nor  the  horses,  nor  anything,"  added  Harry, 
growing  warmer  and  warmer. 

"  I  will  give  you  two  thousand,"  urged  Uncle  Ben,  taking  a  roll 
of  bank  notes  out  of  his  pocket.  Harry,  standing  at  a  respectful 
distance,  shouted  that  he  never  would  do  any  such  thing. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  the  uncle,  with  a  serious  air,  at  the  same 
time  writing  something  in  his  note  book,  "  I  can't  afford  to  give  you 
more  than  two  thousand  dollars,  so  I  shall  have  to  do  without  your 
eyes;  but,"  he  added,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  I  will  give  you 
twenty  dollars  if  you  will  let  me  put  a  few  drops  from  this  bottle  in 
your  ears.  It  will  not  hurt,  but  it  will  make  you  deaf.  I  want  to 
try  some  experiments  with  deafness,  you  see.  Come  quickly,  now! 
Here  are  the  twenty  dollars  all  ready  for  you." 

"  Make  me  deaf  !"  shouted  Harry,  without  even  looking  at  the 
gold  pieces  temptingly  displayed  upon  the  table.  "  I  guess  you  will 
not  do  that,  either.  Why,  I  couldn't  hear  a  single  word  if  I  were 
deaf,  could  I?" 

"  Probably  not,"  replied  Uncle  Ben.  So,  of  course,  Harry  refused 
again.  He  would  never  give  up  his  hearing,  he  said,  "  no,  not  for 
three  thousand  dollars." 

Uncle  Ben  made  another  note  in  his  book,  and  then  came  out 
with  large  bids  for  "  a  right  arm,"  then  "  left  arm,"  "  hands," 
"  feet,"  "  nose,"  finally  ending  with  an  offer  of  ten  thousand  dollars 
for  "  mother,"  and  five  thousand  for  "  the  baby."  . 


280  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

To  all  of  these  offers  Harry  shook  his  head,  his  eyes  flashing,  and 
exclamations  of  surprise  and  indignation  bursting  from  his  lips. 
At  last,  Uncle  Ben  said  he  must  give  up  his  experiments,  for  Harry's 
prices  were  entirely  too  high. 

"  Hal  ha!  "  laughed  the  boy,  exultingly,  and  he  folded  his  dimpled 
arms  and  looked  as  if  to  say,  "  I'd  like  to  sec  the  man  who  could  pay 
them!" 

"  Why,  Harry,  look  here!  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Ben,  peeping  into 
his  note  book,  "  here  is  a  big  addition  sum,  I  tell  you!  "  He  added 
the  numbers,  and  they  amounted  to  thirty-two  thousand  dollars. 

"  There,  Harry,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "  don't  you  think  you  are 
foolish  not  to  accept  some  of  my  offers?  "  "  No,  sir,  I  don't," 
answered  Harry,  resolutely.  "  Then,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "you  talk 
of  being  poor,  and  by  your  own  showing  you  have  treasures  for  which 
you  will  not  take  thirty-two  thousand  dollars.  What  do  you  say 
to  that?  " 

Harry  didn't  know  exactly  what  to  say.  So  he  blushed  for  a 
second,  and  just  then  tears  came  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  and  he 
threw  his  arms  around  my  neck.  "  Mother,"  he  whispered,  "isn't 
God  good  to  make  everybody  so  rich?  " 

Not  known. 

CONSCIENCE 

In  my  fourth  year,  one  fine  day  in  spring  my  father 
led  me  by  the  hand  to  a  distant  part  of  the  farm  — 
but  soon  sent  me  home  alone.  On  the  way  I  had  to 
pass  a  little  "  pond-hole  "  then  spreading  its  waters 
wide.  A  rhodora  in  full  bloom  —  a  rare  flower  in  my 
neighborhood  —  attracted  my  attention  and  drew  me  to 
the  spot. 

I  saw  a  little  spotted  tortoise  sunning  himself  in  the 
shallow  water  at  the  foot  of  the  flaming  shrub.  I 
lifted  the  stick  I  had  in  my  hand,  to  strike  the  harmless 
turtle,  for,  though  I  had  never  killed  any  creature,  I 
had  seen  other  boys  destroy  birds,  squirrels,  and  the 
like,  out  of  sport,  and  I  felt  a  disposition  to  follow  their 
example. 

But  all  at  once  something  checked  my  little  arm,  and 
a  voice  within  me  said,  clear  and  loud,  "  It  is  wrong!  " 

I  held  my  uplifted  stick  in  wonder  at  the  new  emotion, 
—  the  consciousness  of  an  inward  check  upon  my 
actions,  —  till  the  tortoise  and  rhodora  both  vanished 
from  my  sight.  I  hastened  home  and  told  the  tale  to  my 
mother,  asking  what  it  was  that  told  me  it  was  wrong. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  281 

She  wiped  a  tear  from  her  eye,  and,  taking  me  in  her 
arms,  said,  "  Some  men  call  it  conscience,  but  I  prefer 
to  call  it  the  voice  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man. 

"  If  you  listen  to  it,  and  obey  it,  then  it  will  speak 
clearer  and  clearer,  and  always  guide  you  right.  But 
if  you  turn  a  deaf  ear  and  disobey  it,  it  will  fade  out 
little  by  little,  and  leave  you  all  in  the  dark  and  with- 
out a  guide.  Your  life  depends  upon  heeding  this 
little  voice." 

I  went  off  to  wonder  and  to  think  it  over  in  my  poor 
childish  way.  But  I  am  sure  no  other  event  in  my  life 
has  made  so  deep  and  lasting,  an  impression  on  me. 

Theodore  Parker,  1810-1860. 
ANDROCLES  AND  THE  LION 

Long  centuries  ago,  when  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
Romans  to  make  slaves  of  those  who  were  taken  in  war, 
a  prisoner  by  the  name  of  Androcles  became  the  slave 
of  a  hard-hearted  master  who  beat  him  cruelly,  and  in 
all  ways  ill-treated  him. 

At  length  Androcles,  roused  by  the  cruel  treatment, 
raised  his  hand  against  his  master.  As  the  penalty  for 
so  rash  an  act  was  instant  death,  Androcles  fled  to  the 
desert  of  Libya,  in  Africa,  hoping  that  the  Roman 
power  would  not  reach  him  there. 

Weary  with  the  long  journey,  he  was  glad  to  seek 
refuge  in  a  rocky  cave;  but  scarcely  had  he  laid  himself 
down  to  rest  when  he  was  startled  by  the  roar  of  a  lion. 
Seeing  the  terrible  beast  approaching,  he  gave  himself 
up  for  lost,  and  sank  to  the  earth  in  terror. 

The  wild  beast,  as  he  entered  the  cave,  gazed  fiercely 
at  Androcles  for  a  moment;  and  then,  seeming  all  at 
once  to  lose  his  fierceness,  with  plaintive  moans,  he  came 
limping  forward,  holding  out  one  of  his  paws  as  he  did  so. 

Androcles  extended  his  hand,  when  the  huge  beast 
gently  laid  his  paw  in  it,  at  the  same  time  making  a 
whining  noise  as  if  in  great  pain. 

Androcles  examined  the  paw,  which  he  found  to  be 
much  swollen  and  greatly  inflamed.  A  thorn  had  pen- 
etrated the  foot.  This  he  carefully  withdrew,  then 


282  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

gently  wiped  away  the  blood,  and  soon  relieved  the 
beast  of  his  great  suffering. 

In  every  possible  way  the  lion  endeavored  to  express 
his  gratitude.  He  fawned  upon  Androcles,  licked  his 
hands,  put  his  head  in  his  lap,  and  lay  down  with  him 
in  the  cave  to  rest;  and  so  tame  and  gentle  was  the  lion, 
that  all  fear  on  the  part  of  Androcles  soon  gave  way  to 
complete  trust. 

Except  when  the  lion  was  off  hunting,  he  was  not 
willing  that  Androcles  should  be  out  of  his  sight  for  a 
moment.  The  prey  which  he  captured  he  brought  in 
and  laid  down  at  the  feet  of  Androcles,  who  was  glad  to 
share  with  his  companion.  In  this  way,  and  with  the 
aid  of  a  few  roots  and  berries,  Androcles  lived  for  months, 
without  seeing  a  human  being. 

But  he  grew  tired  of  this  desert  life.  He  longed  for 
home.  Though  death  threatened  him  if  he  should  be 
captured,  he  resolved  to  take  the  risk,  and  so,  one  day 
when  the  lion  was  absent,  he  started  on  his  homeward 
journey,  and,  after  long  wanderings,  he  found  himself 
in  his  loved  home  once  more. 

He  was  soon  after  seized,  taken  to  Rome,  and  sen- 
tenced to  be  devoured  by  wild  beasts  in  the  arena. 
For  such  occasions,  wild  beasts  captured  in  the  jungles 
of  Africa  were  confined,  without  food  or  drink,  in  cages 
surrounding  the  circus,  until  they  were  maddened  with 
thirst  and  hunger,  when  they  were  let  loose  upon  their 
victims. 

Such  was  the  terrible  death  that  Androcles  was  to 
suffer.  He  was  brought  into  the  open  arena,  and,  the 
guards  having  retired,  the  door  of  a  cage  was  opened, 
through  which  a  huge  lion  leaped  into  the  arena. 

Seeing  a  man  before  him,  he  bounded  toward  him 
with  an  angry  roar,  and  had  already  crouched  to  make 
the  fatal  spring,  when,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  he 
suddenly  stopped  short,  crept  fawningly  to  the  feet  of 
his  intended  victim,  and  lavished  upon  him  the  fondest 
tokens  of  joy  and  affection. 

Androcles,  thus  suddenly  snatched  from  the  very  jaws 
of  death,  quickly  recognized  his  old  friend  and  com- 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  283 

panion  of  the  jungles;  and  his  joy  was  not  less  than  that 
of  the  lion.  The  people,  moved  with  sympathy  for  the 
man  whom  a  hungry  lion  would  not  harm,  shouted, 
"Pardon!  pardon!  " 

The  games  were  stopped;  and  when  the  story  of 
Androcles  was  told,  the  Emperor  granted  him  a  full 
pardon,  restored  him  to  liberty,  and  made  him  a  present 
of  the  lion.  After  that  the  noble  animal  followed 
Androcles  about  the  city  just  as  a  faithful  dog  would 
follow  his  master. 

Not  known. 
SPRING 

When  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver  white, 
And  cuckpo-buds  of  yellow  hue, 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 

Sings  to  the  world,  and  thus  sings  he. 

Cuckoo, 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo,  —  O  word  so  dear, 
So  pleasing  to  each  human  ear! 

When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaten  straws, 
And  merry  larks  are  ploughman's  clocks, 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daws, 
And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smocks, 

The  cuckoo,  then,  on  every  tree, 

Sings  in  the  grove,  and  thus  sings  he. 
Cuckoo, 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo,  —  Thy  song  I  hear, 

That  pleases  every  human  ear! 
Adapted  from  "  Love's  Labor's  Lost."  Shakespeare,  1564-1616. 

THE   LOST   AX 

A  workman  was  cutting  wood  by  the  side  of  a  river.  By  chance 
his  ax  dropped  into  a  deep  pool.  Having  now  lost  the  means  ot 
earning  his  living,  he  sat  down  and  wept. 

Then,  Mercury  came  to  him  and  asked  him  why  he  sat  there  in 
tears.  The  workman  said,  "  I  have  lost  my  ax  in  the  water." 

When  Mercury  heard  this,  he  jumped  into  the  stream;  and, 
bringing  up  a  golden  ax,  said,  "  Is  this  the  ax  you  have  lost?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  honest  workman,  "  it  is  not."  Mercury  dived 
beneath  the  water  a  second  time,  and,  bringing  up  a  silver  ax,  said, 
"  Is  this  the  ax  you  have  lost?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  workman  again,  "  it  is  not."  Mercury  then 
dived  into  the  pool  a  third  time,  and  brought  up  the  ax  that  the  poor 
workman  had  dropped  into  the  water. 


284  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Then  the  honest  workman  said,  "  Ah,  this  is  my  own  ax!  It  is  the 
one  I  lost."  How  happy  he  was  to  have  it  once  more! 

Mercury  was  so  much  pleased  with  the  honesty  of  this  good  work- 
man that  he  gave  him  the  gold  ax  and  the  silver  ax  also. 

The  workman  returned  home  and  told  his  friends  what  had 
happened. 

One  of  them  at  once  said,  "  I  will  go  to  the  river  and  drop  my  ax 
into  it.  I  may  secure  the  same  good  fortune."  So  he  ran  to  the 
river,  and,  at  the  same  place,  he  threw  his  own  ax  into  the  water. 
He  then  sat  down  upon  the  bank  and  wept. 

Just  as  he  had  hoped,  Mercury  came  to  him.  Having  heard  the 
cause  of  the  man's  grief,  Mercury  jumped  into  the  river  and  brought 
up  an  ax  of  gold.  "  Is  this  the  ax  you  have  lost?  "  said  he. 

This  workman  seized  it  greedily,  and  said,  "  Truly,  this  is  the  very 
same  ax  I  lost  I  " 

Mercury  was  not  pleased  with  this  untruth.  So  he  not  only 
took  away  the  ax  of  gold,  but  he  would  not  dive  for  the  man's  own 
ax. 

I  LIVE  FOR  THOSE  WHO  LOVE  ME 
I  live  for  those  who  love  me, 

Whose  hearts  are  kind  and  true; 
For  the  heaven  that  smiles  above  me, 

And  awaits  my  spirit,  too; 

For  all  human  ties  that  bind  me, 
For  the  task  by  God  assigned  me, 
For  the  hopes  not  left  behind  me, 

And  the  good  that  I  can  do. 
I  live  to  learn  their  story 

Who've  suffered  for  my  sake; 
To  emulate  their  glory, 

And  follow  in  their  wake; 
Bards,  patriots,  martyrs,  sages, 
The  noble  of  all  ages, 
Whose  deeds  crown  history's  pages, 

And  time's  great  volume  make. 
I  live  to  hold  communion 

With  all  that  is  divine; 
To  feel  there  is  a  union 

'Twixt  nature's  heart  and  mine; 
To  profit  by  affliction, 
Reap  truths  from  fields  of  fiction, 
Grow  wiser  from  conviction, 

And  fulfill  each  grand  design. 
I  live  to  hail  that  season 

By  gifted  minds  foretold, 
When  men  shall  live  by  reason, 

And  not  alone  by  gold; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  285 

When  man  to  man  united, 
And  every  wrong  thing  righted, 
The  whole  world  shall  be  lighted 
As  Eden  was  of  old. 

I  live  for  those  who  love  me, 

For  those  who  know  me  true; 
For  the  heaven  that  smiles  above  me, 

And  awaits  my  spirit  too; 
For  the  cause  that  lacks  assistance, 
For  the  wrong  that  needs  resistance, 
For  the  future  in  the  distance, 

And  the  good  that  I  can  do. 

G.  Linnaeus  Banks. 

A  LESSON  IN  COURAGE 

Mississippi  pilots  wisely  train  their  apprentices  by 
various  strategic  tricks  to  look  danger  in  the  face  calmly. 
A  favorite  way  of  theirs  is  to  play  a  friendly  swindle 
upon  the  candidate. 

I  was  served  in  this  fashion  once,  and  for  years  after- 
wards I  used  to  blush  even  in  my  sleep  when  I  thought 
of  it.  I  had  become  a  good  steersman;  so  good,  indeed, 
that  I  had  all  the  work  to  do  on  our  watch,  night  and 
day.  Mr.  Bixby  seldom  made  a  suggestion  to  me;  all 
he  ever  did  was  to  take  the  wheel  on  particularly  bad 
nights  or  in  particularly  bad  crossings,  land  the  boat 
when  she  needed  to  be  landed,  play  gentleman  of  leisure 
nine  tenths  of  the  watch,  and  collect  the  wages.  The 
lower  river  was  about  bank-full  and  if  anybody  had 
questioned  my  ability  to  run  any  crossing  between 
Cairo  and  New  Orleans,  without  help  or  instruction,  I 
should  have  felt  irreparably  hurt.  The  idea  of  being 
afraid  of  any  crossing  in  the  lot,  in  the  day  time,  was  a 
thing  too  preposterous  for  contemplation.  Well,  one 
matchless  summer's  day  I  was  bowling  down  the  bend 
above  Island  66,  brimful  of  self-conceit  and  carrying  my 
nose  as  high  as  a  giraffe's,  when  Mr.  Bixby  said: 

"I  am  going  below  a  while.  I  suppose  you  know  the 
next  crossing?" 

This  was  almost  an  affront.  It  was  about  the  plainest 
and  simplest  crossing  in  the  whole  river.  One  couldn't 
come  to  any  harm,  whether  he  ran  it  right  or  not;  and 


286  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

as  for  depth,  there  never  had  been  any  bottom  there. 
I  knew  all  this  —  perfectly  well. 

"Know  how  to  run  it?  Why  I  can  run  it  with  my 
eyes  shut." 

"  How  much  water  is  there  in  it?  " 

"  Well  that  is  an  odd  question.  I  couldn't  get  bot- 
tom there  with  a  church  steeple." 

"  You  think  so,  do  you?  " 

The  very  tone  of  the  question  shook  my  confidence. 
That  was  what  Mr.  Bixby  was  expecting.  He  left, 
without  saying  anything  more.  I  began  to  imagine  all 
sorts  of  things.  Mr.  Bixby,  unknown  to  me,  of  course, 
sent  somebody  down  to  the  forecastle  with  some  mys- 
terious instructions  to  the  leadsmen,  another  messenger 
was  sent  to  whisper  among  the  officers,  and  then  Mr. 
Bixby  went  into  hiding  behind  a  smoke  stack  where  he 
could  observe  results.  Presently  the  captain  stepped 
out  on  the  hurricane  deck;  next  the  chief  mate  ap- 
peared; then  a  clerk.  Every  moment  or  two  a  straggler 
was  added  to  my  audience;  and  before  I  had  got  to 
the  head  of  the  island  I  had  twenty  or  thirty  people 
assembled  down  there  under  my  nose.  I  began  to 
wonder  what  the  trouble  was.  As  I  started  across  the 
captain  glanced  aloft  at  me  and  said,  with  a  sham  un- 
easiness in  his  voice: 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Bixby?  " 

"  Gone  below,  sir." 

But  that  did  the  business  for  me.  My  imagination 
began  to  construct  dangers  out  of  nothing,  and  they 
multiplied  faster  than  I  could  keep  the  run  of  them. 
All  at  once  I  imagined  I  saw  shoal  water  ahead.  The 
wave  of  coward  agony  that  surged  through  me  then 
came  near  dislocating  every  joint  in  me.  All  my  con- 
fidence vanished.  I  seized  the  bell  rope;  dropped  it, 
ashamed;  seized  it  again;  dropped  it  once  more; 
clutched  it  tremblingly  once  again,  and  pulled  it  so 
feebly  that  I  could  hardly  hear  the  stroke  myself.  Cap- 
tain and  mate  sang  out  instantly,  and  both  together: 

"  Starboard  lead  there,  and  quick  about  it." 

This  was  another  shock.     I  began  to  climb  the  wheel 


FOR   ORAL   ENGLISH!  287 

like  a  squirrel;  but  I  would  hardly  get  the  boat  started 
to  port  before  I  would  see  new  dangers  on  that  side,  and 
away  I  would  spin  to  the  other;  only  to  find  perils 
accumulating  to  starboard,  and  be  crazy  to  get  to  port 
again.  Then  came  the  leadsman's  sepulchral  cry: 

"  D-e-e-p  four." 

Deep  four  in  a  bottomless  crossing.  The  terror  of 
it  took  my  breath  away. 

"  M-a-r-k  three.  .  .  .  M-a-r-k  three.  .  .  .  Quar- 
ter less  three.  .  .  .  Half  twain." 

This  was  frightful.  I  seized  the  bell  ropes  and 
stopped  the  engines. 

"  Quarter  twain.     Quarter  twain.     Mark  twain." 

I  was  helpless.  I  did  not  know  what  in  the  world  to 
do.  I  was  quaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  I  could  have 
hung  my  hat  on  my  eyes,  they  stuck  out  so  far. 

"  Quarter  less  twain.     Nine  and  a  half." 

We  were  drawing  nine.  My  hands  were  in  a  nerve- 
less flutter.  I  could  not  ring  a  bell  intelligibly  with 
them.  I  flew  to  the  speaking-tube  and  shouted  to  the 
engineer: 

"  Oh,  Ben,  if  you  love  me,  back  her.     Quick,  Ben." 

I  heard  the  door  close  gently.  I  looked  around,  and 
there  stood  Mr.  Bixby,  smiling  a  bland  sweet  smile. 
Then  the  audience  on  the  hurricane  deck  sent  up  a 
thundergust  of  humiliating  laughter.  I  saw  it  all,  now, 
and  I  felt  meaner  than  the  meanest  man  in  human 
history.  I  laid  in  the  lead,  set  the  boat  in  her  marks, 
came  ahead  on  the  engines,  and  said: 

"  It  was  a  fine  trick  to  play  on  an  orphan,  wasn't  it? 
I  suppose  I'll  never  hear  the  last  of  how  I  was  so  fool- 
ish as  to  heave  the  lead  at  the  head  of  66." 

"  Well,  no,  you  won't,  maybe.  In  fact  I  hope  you 
won't;  for  I  want  you  to  learn  something  by  that  ex- 
perience. Did  not  you  know  there  was  no  bottom  in 
that  crossing?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did." 

"  Very  well,  then.  You  shouldn't  have  allowed  me 
or  anybody  else  to  shake  your  confidence  in  that  knowl- 
edge. Try  to  remember  that.  And  another  thing: 


288  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

when  you  get  into  a  dangerous  place,  don't  turn  coward. 
That  isn't  going  to  help  matters  any." 

It  was  a  good  enough  lesson,  but  pretty  hardly 
learned.  Yet  about  the  hardest  part  of  it  was  that  for 
months  I  so  often  had  to  hear  a  phrase  which  I  had 
conceived  a  particular  distaste  for.  It  was,  "  Oh,  Ben, 
if  you  love  me,  back  her." 

Mark  Twain  (Samuel  L.  Clemens),  1835-1910. 

WINTER 
When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall, 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 

And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail,  — 
When  blood  is  nipp'd  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who, 

Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  merry  note, 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow, 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parsons's  saw, 

And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow, 
And  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw, 

When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 
To-who, 

Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  merry  note, 

While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 
"Love's  Labor's  Lost."  Shakespeare,  1564-1616. 

DYING  IN   HARNESS 

Only  a  fallen  horse,  stretched  out  there  on  the  road, 
Stretched  in  the  broken  shafts,  and  crushed  by  the  heavy  load; 
Only  a  fallen  horse,  and  a  circle  of  wondering  eyes 
Watching  the  frightened  teamster  goading  the  beast  to  rise. 

Hold!  for  his  toil  is  over;  no  more  labor  for  him; 

See  the  poor  neck  outstretched,  and  the  patient  eyes  grow  dim; 

See  on  the  friendly  stones  how  peacefully  rests  the  head, 

Thinking,  if  dumb  beasts  think,  how  good  it  is  to  be  dead; 

After  the  weary  journey,  how  restful  it  is  to  lie 

With  the  broken  shafts  and  the  cruel  load,  waiting  only  to  die. 

Watchers,  he  died  in  harness,  died  in  the  shafts  and  straps, 
Fell,  and  the  burden  killed  him:   one  of  the  dav's  mishaps; 
One  of  the  passing  wonders  marking  the  city  road, 
A  toiler  dying  in  harness,  heedless  of  call  or  goad. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  289 

Passers,  crowding  the  pathway,  staying  your  steps  awhile, 
What  is  the  symbol?     Only  death;  why  should  we  cease  to  smile 
At  death  for  a  beast  of  burden?     On,  through  the  busy  street 
That  is  ever  and  ever  echoing  the  tread  of  the  hurrying  feet. 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  1844-1890. 

SPRING   SONG  IN  THE   CITY 
Little  barefoot  maiden,  selling  violets  blue, 
Hast  thou  ever  pictur'd  where  the  sweetlings  grew? 
Oh,  the  warm  wild  woodland  ways,  deep  in  dewy  grasses, 
Where  the  wind-blown  shadow  strays,  scented  as  it  passes! 

Pedlar  breathing  deeply,  toiling  into  town, 
With  the  dusty  highway  you  are  dusky  brown; 
Hast  thou  seen  by  daisied  leas,  and  by  rivers  flowing, 
Lilac-ringlets  which  the  breeze  loosens  lightly  blowing? 

Out  of  yonder  wagon  pleasant  hay-scents  float, 

He  who  drives  it  carries  a  daisy  in  his  coat; 

Oh,  the  English  meadows,  fair  far  beyond  all  praises ! 

Freckled  orchids  everywhere  'mid  the  snow  of  daisies! 

Robert  Buchanan,  1841-1901. 

JACKANAPES  AND  THE  GYPSY'S  PONY 

Once  a  year  the  Goose  Green  became  the  scene  of  a 
carnival,  and  it  was  after  that  Annual  Fair  that  Jacka- 
napes, out  rambling  one  morning  by  himself  on  the  Green, 
was  knocked  over  by  the  Gypsy's  son,  riding  the 
Gypsy's  red-haired  pony  at  breakneck  pace  across  the 
common. 

Jackanapes  got  up  and  shook  himself,  none  the  worse 
except  for  being  head  over  heels  in  love  with  the  red- 
haired  pony.  What  a  rate  he  went  at !  How  he  spurned 
the  ground  with  his  nimble  feet!  How  his  red  coat 
shone  in  the  sunshine! 

The  gypsy  boy  had  had  a  fright,  and  he  was  willing 
enough  to  reward  Jackanapes  for  not  having  been  hurt, 
by  consenting  to  let  him  have  a  ride. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  kill  the  little  fine  gentleman,  and 
swing  us  all  on  the  gibbet,  you  rascal?  "  screamed  the 
Gypsy  mother,  who  came  up  just  as  Jackanapes  and  the 
pony  set  off. 

"  He  would  get  on,"  replied  her  son.  "  It'll  not  kill 
him.  He'll  fall  on  his  yellow  head,  and  it's  as  tough  as 
a  cocoanut." 


290  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

But  Jackanapes  did  not  fall.  He  stuck  to  the  red- 
haired  pony.  Just  as  his  legs  were  beginning  to  feel  as 
if  he  did  not  feel  them,  the'Gypsy  boy  cried  "  Lollo!  " 
Round  went  the  pony  so  unceremoniously  that  with  as 
little  ceremony  Jackanapes  clung  to  his  neck;  and  he 
did  not  properly  recover  himself  before  Lollo  stopped 
with  a  jerk  at  the  place  where  they  had  started. 

"  Is  his  name  Lollo?  "  asked  Jackanapes,  his  hand 
lingering  on  the  wiry  mane. 

"  Yes." 

"  What  does  Lollo  mean?  " 

"  Red." 

"  Is  Lollo  your  pony?  " 

"  No.  My  father's."  And  the  Gypsy  boy  led  Lollo 
away. 

At  the  first  opportunity  Jackanapes  stole  away  again 
to  the  common.  This  time  he  saw  the  Gypsy  father, 
smoking  a  dirty  pipe. 

"  Lollo  is  your  pony,  isn't  he?  "  said  Jackanapes. 

"  Yes." 

"  He's  a  very  nice  one." 

"  He's  a  racer." 

"  You  don't  want  to  sell  him,  do  you?  " 

"  Fifteen  pounds,"  said  the  Gypsy  father;  and 
Jackanapes  sighed  and  went  home  again. 

Soon  afterwards  Jackanapes'  grandfather,  the  Gen- 
eral, arrived,  and  as  they  sat  talking  one  day  the  General 
remarked,  "  Pretty  place  this,"  and  looked  out  of  the 
lattice  on  to  the  Green,  where  the  grass  was  vivid  with 
sunset,  and  the  shadows  were  long  and  peaceful. 

"  You  should  see  it  in  Fair  week,  sir,"  said  Jacka- 
napes. 

"  A  fine  time  that,  eh?  "  said  the  General,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Jackanapes  shook  his  yellow  mop.  "  I  enjoyed  this 
last  one  best  of  all,"  he  said.  "  I'd  so  much  money." 

"  You  don't  want  money  except  at  Fair  times,  I  sup- 
pose? "  said  the  General. 

Jackanapes  shook  his  head  once  more.     "  If  I  could 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  291 

have  as  much  as  I  want,  I  should  know  what  to  buy," 
said  he. 

"  And  how  much  do  you  want  if  you  could  get  it?  " 

"  Fourteen  pounds,  ninteen  shillings,  and  ten-pence, 
then,  is  what  I  want,"  said  Jackanapes. 

"  Bless  my  soul!     What  for?  " 

"  To  buy  Lollo  with  —  the  Gypsy's  red-haired  pony, 
sir.  You  should  see  his  mane!  You  should  see  his 
tail!  Such  a  dear  face  too;  and  eyes  like  a  mouse! 
But  he's  a  racer,  and  the  Gypsy  wants  fifteen  pounds 
for  him." 

"  If  he's  a  racer  you  couldn't  ride  him,  could  you?" 

"  No-o,  sir,  but  I  can  stick  to  him.  I  did  the  other 
day." 

"You  did!  Well,  I'm  fond  of  riding,  myself;  and  if 
the  beast  is  as  good  as  you  say,  he  might  suit  me." 

"  You're  too  tall  for  Lollo,  I  think,"  said  Jackanapes, 
measuring  his  grandfather  with  his  eye. 

"  I  can  double  up  my  legs,  I  suppose.  We'll  have  a 
look  at  him  to-morrow." 

The  General  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Next  morn- 
ing the  Gypsy  and  Lollo,  Jackanapes  and  his  grand- 
father, and  his  dog  Spitfire  were  all  gathered  at  one  end 
of  the  Green.  The  General  talked  to  the  Gypsy,  and 
Jackanapes  fondled  Lollo's  mane. 

"  Jackanapes!  " 

"  Yes,  sir!  " 

"  I've  bought  Lollo;  but  I  believe  you  were  right. 
He  stands  hardly  high  enough  for  me.  If  you  can  ride 
him  to  the  other  end  of  the  Green,  I'll  give  him  to  you." 

How  Jackanapes  tumbled  on  to  Lollo's  back  he  never 
knew.  He  had  just  gathered  up  the  reins  when  the 
Gypsy  father  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"  If  you  want  to  make  Lollo  go  fast,  my  little  gentle- 
man —  " 

"  I  can  make  him  go!  "  said  Jackanapes;  and  draw- 
ing from  his  pocket  the  trumpet  he  had  bought  in  the 
Fair,  he  blew  a  blast  both  loud  and  shrill. 

Away  went  Lollo,  and  away  went  Jackanapes'  hat. 


292  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

His  golden  hair  flew  out,  making  an  aureole  from  which 
his  cheeks  shone  red  and  distended  with  trumpeting. 
Away  went  Spitfire,  mad  with  the  rapture  of  the  race 
and  the  wind  in  his  silky  ears. 

"  Good,  my  little  gentleman,  good!  "  said  the  Gypsy 
when  Jackanapes  and  Lollo  came  back,  Spitfire  panting 
behind.  "  You  were  born  to  the  saddle." 

From  "Jackanapes."  Juliana  Horatia  Swing. 

THE  WATER-LILY 

In  the  slimy  bed  of  a  sluggish  mere 

Its  root  had  humble  birth, 
And  the  slender  stem  that  upward  grew 
Was  coarse  of  fibre  and  dull  of  hue, 

With  naught  of  grace  or  worth. 

The  gelid  fish  that  floated  near 

Saw  only  the  vulgar  stem. 
The  clumsy  turtle  paddling  by, 
The  water  snake  with  his  lidless  eye,  — 

It  was  only  a  weed  to  them. 

But  the  butterfly  and  the  honeybee, 

The  sun  and  sky  and  air, 
They  marked  its  heart  of  virgin  gold 
In  the  satin  leaves  of  spotless  fold, 

And  its  odor  rich  and  rare. 

So  the  fragrant  soul  in  its  purity, 

To  sordid  life  tied  down, 
May  bloom  to  heaven,  and  no  man  know, 
Seeing  the  coarse,  vile  stem  below, 

How  God  hath  seen  the  crown. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche,  1847-1908. 

THE  ENCHANTED   SHIRT 

The  king  was  sick!     His  cheek  was  red, 

And  his  eye  was  clear  and  bright; 
He  ate  and  drank  with  kingly  zest, 

And  peacefully  snored  at  night. 
But  he  said  he  was  sick,  and  a  king  should  know, 

And  the  doctors  came  by  the  score. 
They  did  not  cure  him.     He  cut  off  their  heads, 

And  sent  to  the  schools  for  more. 

At  last  two  famous  doctors  came, 

And  one  was  as  poor  as  a  rat,  — 
He  had  passed  his  life  in  studious  toil, 

And  never  found  time  to  grow  fat. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  293 

The  other  had  never  looked  in  a  book; 

His  patients  gave  him  no  trouble: 
If  they  recovered,  they  paid  him  well; 

If  they  died,  their  heir's  paid  double. 

Together  they  looked  at  the  royal  tongue, 

As  the  king  on  his  couch  reclined; 
In  succession  they  thumped  his  august  chest, 

But  no  trace  of  disease  could  find. 

The  old  Sage  said,  "  You're  as  sound  as  a  nut." 

"  Hang  him  up,"  roared  the  king  in  a  gale- 
In  a  ten -knot  gale  of  royal  rage; 

The  other  leech  grew  a  shade  pale; 
But  he  pensively  rubbed  his  sagacious  nose, 

And  thus  his  prescription  ran  — 
The  king  will  be  well,  if  he  sleeps  one  night 

In  the  shirt  of  a  Happy  Man. 

Wide  o'er  the  realm  the  couriers  rode, 

And  fast  their  horses  ran, 
And  many  they  saw,  and  to  many  they  spoke, 

But  they  found  no  Happy  Man. 
They  found  poor  men  who  would  fain  be  rich, 

And  rich  men  who  thought  they  were  poor; 
And  men  who  twisted  their  waists  in  stays, 

And  women  who  short  hose  wore. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  village  gate, 

A  beggar  lay  whistling  there; 
He  whistled,  and  sang,  and  laughed,  and  rolled 

On  the  grass,  in  the  soft  June  air. 
The  weary  couriers  paused  and  looked 

At  the  scamp  so  blithe  and  gay; 
And  one  of  them  said,  "  Heaven  save  you,  friend! 

You  seem  to  be  happy  to-day." 

"  O  yes,  fair  Sirs,"  the  rascal  laughed, 

And  his  voice  rang  free  and  glad; 
"  An  idle  man  has  so  much  to  do 

That  he  never  has  time  to  be  sad." 
"  This  is  our  man,"  the  courier  said; 

"  Our  luck  has  led  us  aright. 
I  will  give  you  a  hundred  ducats,  friend, 

For  the  loan  of  your  shirt  to-night." 

The  merry  blackguard  lay  back  on  the  grass, 

And  laughed  till  his  face  was  black; 
"  I  would  do  it,  God  wot,"  and  he  roared  with  the  fun, 

"  But  I  haven't  a  shirt  to  my  back,  ",  .  , 


294  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Each  day  to  the  king  the  reports  came  in 

Of  his  unsuccessful  spies, 
And  the  sad  panorama  of  human  woes 

Passed  daily  under  his  eyes. 

And  he  grew  ashamed  of  his  useless  life. 

And  his  maladies  hatched  in  gloom; 
He  opened  his  windows  and  let  the  air 

Of  the  free  heaven  into  his  room. 
And  out  he  went  in  the  world,  and  toiled 

In  his  own  appointed  way; 
And  the  people  blessed  him,  the  land  was  glad, 

And  the  king  was  well  and  gay. 

John  Hay,  1838-1905. 

THE  DERVIS  AND  THE  LOST  CAMEL 

Two  merchants  met  a  dervis  in  the  desert,  who  was 
traveling  alone. 

"  You  have  lost  a  camel,"  he  said  to  the  merchants. 

"  Indeed  we  have,"  one  of  the  merchants  replied. 

"  Was  he  not  blind  in  his  right  eye,  and  lame  in  his 
left  leg?  "  continued  the  dervis. 

"  He  was,"  answered  the  merchants. 

"  Had  he  not  lost  a  front  tooth?  "  added  the  dervis. 

"  He  had,"  replied  the  merchants,  beginning  to  think 
that  the  lost  animal  was  found. 

"  And  was  he  not  loaded  with  honey  on  one  side  and 
corn  on  the  other?  " 

"  Most  certainly  he  was,"  the  merchants  said;  "  and 
as  you  have  seen  him  lately,  and  marked  him  so  particu- 
larly, you  can,  in  all  probability,  conduct  us  to  him." 

The  dervis  responded,  "  I  have  never  seen  your 
camel,  nor  even  heard  of  him  but  from  you." 

"A  pretty  story,  truly!"  exclaimed  the  merchants, 
supposing  they  were  standing  face  to  face  with  a  thief 
or  robber.  "  But  where  are  the  jewels  which  formed  a 
part  of  his  burden?  " 

"  I  have  seen  neither  your  camel  nor  your  jewels," 
insisted  the  dervis. 

Satisfied  that  the  dervis  was  a  robber,  the  merchants 
seized  him,  and  carried  him  before  the  cadi  for  exami- 
nation. Nothing  was  found  upon  his  person  to  convict 
him,  nor  could  any  evidence  of  guilt  be  discovered. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  295 

"A  sorcerer!  a  sorcerer!"  exclaimed  the  merchants; 
and  they  hastened  to  get  him  indicted  for  sorcery. 
But  the  dervis  put  an  end  to  their  proceedings. 

"  I  have  been  much  amused  with  your  surprise,  and 
own  that  there  has  been  some  ground  for  your  sus- 
picions; but  I  have  lived  long  and  alone,  and  I  can  find 
ample  scope  for  observation,  even  in  a  desert.  I  knew 
that  I  had  crossed  the  track  of  a  camel  that  had  strayed 
from  its  owner,  because  I  saw  no  mark  of  any  human 
footstep  on  the  same  route.  I  knew  that  the  animal 
was  blind  in  one  eye,  because  it  had  cropped  the  herbage 
only  on  one  side  of  the  path;  and  I  perceived  that  it  was 
lame  in  one  leg  from  the  faint  impression  which  that 
particular  foot  had  produced  upon  the  sand.  I  con- 
cluded that  the  animal  had  lost  one  tooth,  because 
wherever  it  had  grazed,  a  small  tuft  of  herbage  was  left 
uninjured  in  the  center  of  its  bite.  As  to  that  which 
formed  the  burden  of  the  beast,  the  busy  ants  informed 
me  that  it  was  corn  on  one  side,  and  the  clustering  flies 
that  it  was  honey  on  the  other." 

Not  known. 

MY  LITTLE  NEIGHBOR 
My  little  neighbor's  table's  set, 

And  slyly  he  conies  down  the  tree, 
His  feet  firm  in  each  tiny  fret 

The  bark  has  fashioned  cunningly. 

He  pauses  on  a  favorite  knot; 

Beneath  the  oak  his  feast  is  spread; 
He  asks  no  friend  to  share  his  lot, 

Or  dine  with  him  on  acorn  bread. 

He  keeps  his  whiskers  trim  and  neat, 
His  tail  with  care  he  brushes  through; 

He  runs  about  on  all  four  feet  — 
When  dining  he  sits  up  on  two. 

He  has  the  latest  stripe  in  furs, 

And  wears  them  all  the  year  around; 

He  does  not  mind  the  prick  of  burs 
When  there  are  chestnuts  to  be  found. 

I  watch  his  home  and  guard  his  store, 

A  cozy  hollow  in  a  tree; 
He  often  sits  within  his  door 

And  chatters  wondrous  things  to  me. 

Mary  Augusta  Mason. 


296  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Whoever  fights,  whoever  falls, 

Justice  conquers  evermore, 

Justice  after  as  before,  — 

And  he  who  battles  on  her  side, 

God,  though  he  were  ten  times  slain, 

Crowns  him  victor  glorified,  — 

Victor  over  death  and  pain, 

Forever.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

TWO  BIRD  NEIGHBORS 

Orioles  are  in  great  plenty  with  me.  I  have  seen 
seven  males  flashing  about  the  garden  at  once.  A 
merry  crew  of  them  swing  their  hammocks  from  the 
pendulous  boughs.  During  one  of  these  later  years, 
when  the  cankerworms  stripped  our  elms  as  bare  as 
winter,  these  birds  went  to  the  trouble  of  rebuilding 
their  unroofed  nests,  and  chose  for  their  purpose  trees 
which  are  safe  from  those  swarming  vandals,  such  as 
the  ash  and  the  button  wood.  One  year  a  pair  (dis- 
turbed, I  suppose,  elsewhere)  built  a  second  nest  in  an 
elm  within  a  few  yards  of  the  house.  My  friend, 
Edward  Everett  Hale,  told  me  once  that  the  oriole  re- 
jected from  his  web  all  strands  of  brilliant  color,  and  I 
thought  it  a  striking  example  of  that  instinct  of  con- 
cealment noticeable  in  many  birds,  though  it  should 
seem  in  this  instance  that  the  nest  was  amply  protected 
by  its  position  from  all  marauders  but  owls  and  squir- 
rels. Last  year,  however,  I  had  the  fullest  proof  that 
Mr.  Hale  was  mistaken.  A  pair  of  orioles  built  on  the 
lowest  trailer  of  a  weeping  elm,  which  hung  within  ten 
feet  of  our  drawing-room  window,  and  so  low  that  I 
could  reach  it  from  the  ground.  The  nest  was  wholly 
woven  and  felted  with  ravelings  of  woolen  carpet  in 
which  scarlet  predominated.  Would  the  same  thing 
have  happened  in  the  woods?  Or  did  the  nearness  of 
a  human  dwelling  perhaps,  give  the  birds  a  greater  feel- 
ing of  security? 

They  are  very  bold,  by  the  way,  in  quest  of  cordage, 
and  I  have  often  watched  them  stripping  the  fibrous 
bark  from  a  honeysuckle  growing  over  the  very  door. 
Put,  indeed,  all  my  birds  look  upon  me  as  if  I  were  a 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  297 

mere  tenant  at  will,  and  they  were  landlords.  With 
shame  I  confess  it,  I  have  been  bullied  even  by  a  hum- 
ming bird.  This  spring,  as  I  was  cleansing  a  pear  tree  of 
its  lichens,  one  of  these  little  zig-zagging  blurs  came 
purring  toward  me,  couching  his  long  bill  like  a  lance, 
his  throat  sparkling  with  angry  fire,  to  warn  me  off 
from  a  Missouri  currant  whose  honey  he  was  sipping. 
And  many  a  time  he  has  driven  me  out  of  a  flower  bed. 

This  summer  by  the  way  a  pair  of  these  winged 
emeralds  fastened  their  mossy  acorn  cup  upon  a  bough 
of  the  same  elm  which  the  orioles  had  enlivened  the 
year  before.  We  watched  all  their  proceedings  from 
the  window  through  an  opera  glass,  and  saw  their  two 
nestlings  grow  from  black  needles  with  a  tuft  of  down 
at  the  lower  end,  till  they  whirled  away  on  their  first 
short  experimental  flights.  They  became  strong  of 
wing  in  a  surprisingly  short  time,  and  I  never  saw  them 
or  the  male  bird  after,  though  the  female  was  regular 
as  usual  in  her  visits  to  our  petunias  and  verbenas. 

I  do  not  think  it  ground  enough  for  a  generalization, 
but  in  the  many  times  when  I  watched  the  old  birds 
feeding  their  young,  the  mother  always  alighted,  while 
the  father  as  uniformly  remained  upon  the  wing. 

From  "  My  Garden  Acquaintance."  James  Russell  Lowell,  1819-1891. 


THE   OWL   CRITIC 

"  Who  stuffed  that  white  owl?  "     No  one  spoke  in  the  shop; 
The  barber  was  busy,  and  he  couldn't  stop; 
The  customers,  waiting  their  turns,  were  all  reading 
The  "  Daily,"  the  "  Herald,"  the  "  Post,"  little  heeding 
The  young  man  who  blurted  out  such  a  blunt  question; 
Not  one  raised  a  head,  or  even  made  a  suggestion; 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Mister  Brown," 

Cried  the  youth  with  a  frown, 

"  How  wrong  the  whole  thing  is, 

How  preposterous  each  wing  is, 

How  flattened  the  head  is,  how  jammed  down  the  neck  is,  — • 

In  short,  the  whole  owl,  what  an  ignorant  wreck  'tis? 

I  make  no  apology; 

I've  learned  owl-eology, 


298  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

I've  passed  days  and  nights  in  a  hundred  collections. 
And  cannot  be  blinded  to  any  deflections 
Arising  from  unskilled  fingers  that  fail 
To  stuff  a  bird  right,  from  his  beak  to  his  tail. 
Mister  Brown!     Mister  Brown! 
Do  take  that  bird  down, 

Or  you'll  be  the  laughing-stock  all  over  town!  " 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"  I've  studied  owls, 
And  other  night  fowls, 
And  I  tell  you 
What  I  know  to  be  true; 
An  owl  cannot  roost 
With  his  limbs  so  unloosed; 
No  owl  in  this  world 
Ever  had  his  claws  curled, 
Ever  had  his  legs  slanted, 
Ever  had  his  bill  canted, 
Ever  had  his  neck  screwed 
Into  that  attitude. 
He  can't  do  it,  because 
'Tis  against  all  bird  laws. 
Anatomy  teaches, 
Ornithology  preaches, 
An  owl  has  a  toe 
That  can't  turn  out  so! 

I've  made  the  white  owl  my  study  for  years, 
And  to  see  such  a  job  almost  moves  me  to  tears! 
Mister  Brown,  I'm  amazed 
You  should  be  so  gone  crazed 
As  to  put  up  a  bird 
In  that  posture  absurd ! 

To  look  at  that  owl  really  brings  on  a  dizziness; 
The  man  who  stuffed  him  don't  half  know  his  business. 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"  Examine  those  eyes! 

I'm  filled  with  surprise 

Taxidermists  should  pass 

Off  on  you  such  poor  glass; 

So  unnatural  they  seem 

They'd  make  Audubon  scream, 

And  John  Burroughs  laugh 

To  encounter  such  chaff. 

Do  take  that  bird  down! 

Have  him  stuffed  again,  Brown!  " 

And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  299 

"  With  some  sawdust  and  bark 

I  could  stuff  in  the  dark 

An  owl  better  than  that. 

I  could  make  an  old  hat 

Look  more  like  an  owl 

Than  that  horrid  fowl, 

Stuck  up  there  so  stiff  like  a  side  of  coarse  leather, 

In  fact,  about  him  there's  not  one  natural  feather." 

Just  then,  with  a  wink  and  a  sly  normal  lurch, 
The  owl  very  gravely  got  down  from  his  perch, 
Walked  round,  and  regarded  his  fault-finding  critic 
(Who  thought  he  was  stuffed)  with  a  glance  analytic, 
And  then  fairly  hooted,  as  if  he  should  say, 
"  Your  learning's  at  fault  this  time,  anyway; 
Don't  waste  it  again  on  a  live  bird,  I  pray. 
I'm  an  owl;  you're  another.     Sir  Critic,  good  day!  " 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

James  T.  Fields,  1817-1881. 

THE  CHURCH-CLOCK  AND  THE  SUN-DIAL 

It  was  a  gloomy  day,  and  the  sun  had  hidden  himself 
behind  the  clouds.  A  church,  which  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  churchyard,  had  a  very  pretty  clock,  which  was 
very  proud  of  its  looks  and  its  bright  face  with  letters 
all  over  it  in  gold. 

Not  far  from  the  church  stood  a  sun-dial.  And  on 
this  day,  when  the  sun  was  hiding  his  face,  the  clock 
began  to  talk  to  the  sun-dial. 

"  How  stupid  you  are!  "  said  the  clock;  "  you  stand 
there  as  dull  as  a  post,  and  as  dumb  as  a  stone.  You 
never  tell  the  hour  till  the  sun  looks  out  and  gives  you  a 
hint  to  speak.  I  go  merrily  round,  day  and  night,  sum- 
mer and  winter,  never  stopping  —  whether  the  sun 
shines  or  not. 

"  I  tell  the  people  the  time  to  rise,  the  time  to  go  to 
dinner,  the  time  to  go  to  bed;  and  I  tell  them  when  to 
come  to  church.  Just  listen,  I  am  going  to  strike  now 
—  one  —  two  —  three  —  four.  There !  How  stupid  you 
look!  You  cannot  say  a  single  word!  " 

The  sun  at  that  very  moment  looked  out  from  be- 
hind a  dark  cloud,  through  a  clear  blue  rift  in  the  sky. 
It  shone  upon  the  sun-dial,  and  showed,  by  the  shadow 


300  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

cast  from  the  metal  plate,  that  the  clock  was  fully  half- 
an-hour  behind  the  right  time. 

The  clock  was  now  silent,  and  felt  very  sorry  for  what 
he  had  said;  but  the  dial  smiled  at  his  boastful  rashness. 
A  thoughtful  silence  is  better  than  much  talking  or  boast- 
ing. 

Not  known. 
THE  LOST  LAMB 

Storm  upon  the  mountain, 

Night  upon  its  throne! 
And  the  little  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone! 
Storm  upon  the  mountain, 

Rainy  torrents  beating, 
And  the  little  snow-white  lamb 

Bleating,  ever  bleating! 

Down  the  glen  the  shepherd 

Drives  his  flock  afar; 
Through  the  murky  mist  and  cloud. 

Shines  no  beacon  star. 
Fast  he  hurries  onward, 

Never  hears  the  moan 
Of  the  pretty  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone! 

At  the  shepherd's  doorway 

Stands  his  little  son; 
Sees  the  sheep  come  trooping  home, 

Counts  them  one  by  one; 
Counts  them  full  and  fairly  — 

Trace  he  findeth  none 
Of  the  little  snow-white  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone! 

Up  the  glen  he  races, 

Breasts  the  bitter  wind, 
Scours  across  the  plain  and  leaves 

Wood  and  wold  behind;  — 
Storm  upon  the  mountain 

Night  upon  its  throne,  — 
There  he  finds  the  little  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone  1 

Struggling,  panting,  sobbing, 

Kneeling  on  the  ground, 
Round  the  pretty  creature's  neck 

Both  his  arms  are  wound; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  301 

Soon  within  his  bosom, 

All  its  bleating  done, 
Home  he  bears  the  little  lamb, 

Left  alone,  alone! 

Oh!  the  happy  faces 

By  the  shepherd's  fire! 
High  without  the  tempest  roars, 

But  the  laugh  rings  higher. 
Young  and  old  together 

Make  that  joy  their  own  — 
In  their  midst  the  little  lamb, 

Now  no  more  alone ! 

Thomas  Westwood,  1814-1888. 

HOW  THE  NAUTILUS  LEFT  HER  SHIP 

The  nautilus  was  crawling  around  her  home  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ocean.  It  was  far,  far  down,  through  the 
gleaming,  deep  blue  water,  to  the  floor  of  hard  white 
sand  below.  All  about  her  shone  a  soft  green  light, 
and  over  the  white  floor  lay  shells  of  wonderful  colors  — 
crimson,  orange,  and  pearly  white.  Here  and  there  on 
the  rocks  were  sea  flowers  tinted  like  rainbows,  wav- 
ing their  filmy  petals  to  and  fro,  while  groups  of  jelly- 
fish floated  by,  like  trailing  sparks  of  fire.  Other  fishes 
of  strange  shapes,  big  and  little,  gleamed  like  silver  as 
they  swam  through  the  water.  The  nautilus  was  talk- 
ing to  herself,  and  taking  no  notice  of  a  great  old  crab 
that  was  perched  upon  a  rock  and  watching  her. 

"  What  a  queer  little  creature!  "  said  the  crab.  "  She 
looks  a  good  deal  like  her  cousin,  the  cuttlefish;  eight 
legs,  or  perhaps  arms,  must  be  awkward  to  manage.  I 
like  her  color,  though  it  is  white  with  rose-colored  spots. 
And  her  shell  does  make  a  nice  boat,  though  I'd  hate  to 
have  to  be  thinking  about  it  all  the  time.  I  guess  I'll 
speak  to  her.  "  Ahem!  "  said  the  old  crab,  to  attract 
attention. 

Into  her  shell  went  the  nautilus  at  a  bound.  Out  of 
sight  went  arms  and  legs,  and  all  but  a  bright  eye,  left 
to  peep  out  and  see  who  it  was  that  called. 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  said  the  crab;  "  I  just  wanted 
to  know  what  seemed  to  be  worrying  you." 


302  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Out  came  the  nautilus  again,  glad  to  find  a  friend,  and 
she  rested,  rocking  in  her  shell  while  she  talked. 

"  It  was  many  days  ago,"  said  the  nautilus,  dreamily, 
"  when  I  was  sailing  through  those  upper  seas.  Just 
at  sunset  I  passed  a  great,  ugly  boat,  filled  with  those 
creatures  who  call  themselves  men.  Among  them  was  a 
little  child,  and  to  him  I  listened.  He  reached  his 
hands  toward  the  ocean  and  talked  to  it,  and  as  I  fol- 
lowed, all  his  talk  was  of  the  ocean  and  how  he  loved 
it,  and  how  he  lived  in  a  strange  country  where  there 
was  no  sea.  The  child  wanted  to  take  something  of  the 
ocean  with  him,  and  I  thought  at  once  of  my  ship, 
knowing  I  could  slip  from  under  it  without  being  seen; 
but  the  day  before  I  had  happened  on  a  battle  between 
a  swordfish  and  a  sawfish,  and  in  the  struggle  a  piece  of 
my  ship  was  broken.  I  have  been  all  this  day  mending 
and  making  it  new,  and  now,  how  shall  I  find  the  little 
child  again?  " 

The  old  crab  slid  down  from  the  rocks.  "  Well,"  he 
said,  "  we'll  manage  it.  Come  to  the  sea  urchins' 
house  and  we'll  ask  if  they  know."  So  off  they  went 
together. 

But,  when  they  found  the  sea  urchins,  those  roly- 
poly,  spiny  fellows  did  not  know  anything  at  all  about 
the  little  child  who  wanted  to  take  the  ocean  home. 
So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  on  to  the  starfish. 
The  starfish  lived  in  a  most  beautiful  home.  It  was  a 
fairy  grotto  where  clusters  of  sea  anemones  grew  thickly 
around  the  door,  and  the  floor  was  of  shining  pebbles. 
When  they  entered  his  house  he  waved  his  five  fingers  in 
greeting  to  them.  Then  both  together  asked,  "  Where 
on  earth  can  we  find  the  little  child  who  wanted  to 
take  the  ocean  home?  " 

But  the  starfish  was  just  as  surprised  as  the  sea 
urchins  had  been.  He  had  seen  some  children  once,  he 
believed  —  fat  little  bare-legged  things,  digging  in  the 
sand,  but  none  of  them  had  said  anything  about  the 
ocean. 

He  suggested  that  they  ask  the  oysters,  who  knew  a 
good  deal  about  men's  habits;  and  here,  indeed,  they 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  303 

had  hopes  of  learning  something;  for  there  were  so 
many  oysters  lying  about,  surely  some  of  them  must 
have  picked  up  some  news.  However,  just  now  they  all 
seemed  to  be  asleep,  and  the  crab  had  to  rap  very  hard 
with  his  claws  on  their  shells  before  he  could  rouse 
them. 

No  one  knew  what  he  wanted,  however,  till  he  reached 
a  fat  oyster  in  a  corner.  This  oyster,  as  it  happened, 
had  been  drawn  up  in  a  dredging  net  the  day  before, 
and  had  slipped  over  the  side  of  the  boat  down  to  his 
home  again.  As  he  had  lain  in  the  boat,  he  had  seen  a 
little  child,  on  the  sand  at  the  water's  edge,  stretch  out 
his  hands  as  if  talking  to  the  waves. 

"  It  must  be  the  same  child,"  cried  the  nautilus. 

For  five  minutes  the  nautilus  and  the  crab  looked  at 
each  other  without  speaking. 

"  I  can  think  of  but  one  place  more,"  said  the  nautilus, 
"and  that  is  the  coral  reef." 

"  Let  us  go  there,  by  all  means,"  said  the  crab. 

This  was  a  long  walk,  up  a  steep  hill,  and  with  many 
things  to  stop  their  way.  The  sardine  school  was  out 
for  a  picnic,  and  an  enormous  shark  was  lying  right 
across  their  path,  so  that  they  had  to  go  ever  so  far 
around  to  pass  him.  There  were  a  great  many  troubles 
besides,  so  that  they  were  quite  out  of  breath  when 
they  reached  the  coral  reef. 

It  stood  like  a  great  temple,  strong  and  steady,  reach- 
ing far  up  through  the  water  to  the  light  above,  and  it 
was  ivory  white  in  the  clear  shining  of  the  sea. 

The  crab  and  the  nautilus  had  hard  work  sending  their 
message  by  a  sunfish  all  the  way  to  the  top  of  the  reef, 
where  the  polyp  family  were  living,  but  back  the  mes- 
senger came  to  say  that  a  little  child  played  each  day 
on  a  sandy  beach  not  far  from  the  reef,  and  that  every 
evening,  just  at  sunset,  he  ran  down  to  say  good  night 
to  the  ocean. 

You  may  imagine  how  happy  the  nautilus  was.  She 
thanked  the  old  crab,  and  fell  to  polishing  her  boat  until 
it  shone  like  mother-of-pearl,  so  that  it  would  be  in 
readiness. 


304  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

And  that  evening  the  nautilus  sailed  through  the 
upper  seas  straight  toward  the  beach  near  the  reef. 
There,  to  be  sure,  as  she  drew  nearer,  was  the  child  she 
had  tried  so  hard  to  find;  but  the  child's  face  was 
turned  away,  and  he  seemed  to  be  singing  softly  to 
himself. 

Then  all  at  once  the  nautilus  felt  very  shy.  When 
she  had  sailed  up  close  to  the  beach,  she  gave  her  ship  a 
little  push  to  send  it  further  in.  Then  she  slipped  from 
under  it,  and  dropped  down  to  her  home  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea.  There  she  would  have  to  make  another  boat. 

The  child,  as  he  turned  to  walk  along  the  beach,  saw 
something  shining  on  the  wet  sand.  He  ran  to  pick  it 
up.  It  was  a  wonderful,  beautiful  shell,  pearly  white, 
with  delicate  curving  lines,  and  so  frail  and  fair  that  it 
seemed  as  if  a  breath  might  hurt  it. 

"  It  is  a  ship!  "  cried  the  child;  "  a  ship  the  fairies 
have  sent  me;"  and  he  laughed  aloud  with  delight. 

Then  he  held  it  up  to  his  ear,  and  his  eyes  grew  bright 
with  wonder,  for  deep  from  the  heart  of  the  shell  came 
the  voice  of  the  ocean.  And  the  child  with  the  fairy 
ship  in  his  hands  knew  that  however  far  he  might  go, 
still  he  would  have  ever  with  him  something  of  the  mur- 
mur and  the  mystery  of  the  sea. 

Abridged.  Mary  E.  Blalcewell. 

THE  LION  AND  THE   CUB 

A  lion  cub,  of  sordid  mind, 
Avoided  all  the  lion  kind; 
Fond  of  applause,  he  sought  the  feasts 
Of  vulgar  and  ignoble  beasts; 
With  asses  all  his  time  he  spent, 
Their  club's  perpetual  president. 
He  caught  their  manners,  looks,  and  airs; 
An  ass  in  everything  but  ears! 
If  e'er  his  Highness  meant  a  joke, 
They  grinn'd  applause  before  he  spoke; 
But  at  each  word  what  shouts  of  praise; 
"  Goodness!  how  natural  he  brays!  " 

Elate  with  flattery  and  conceit, 
He  seeks  his  royal  sire's  retreat; 
Forward  and  fond  to  show  his  parts, 
His  Highness  brays;  the  lion  starts. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  305 

"  Puppy!  that  curs'd  vociferation: 
Betrays  thy  life  and  conversation : 
Coxcombs,  an  ever-noisy  race, 
Are  trumpets  of  their  own  disgrace." 

"  Why  so  severe?  "  the  cub  replies; 
"  Our  senate  always  held  me  wise!  " 

"  How  weak  is  pride,"  returns  the  sire: 
"  All  fools  are  vain  when  fools  admire! 
But  know,  what  stupid  asses  prize, 
Lions  and  noble  beasts  despise." 

John  Gay,  1685-1732. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 

I  have  known  few  things  in  the  world  more  delightful 
than  to  meet  people  who  have  met  and  conversed  with 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  several  persons  who  were  on  inti- 
mate terms  with  him.  To  hear  them  describe  his  noble 
character,  imitate  the  tones  of  his  sympathetic  voice, 
and  dwell  upon  his  genius,  was  indeed  something  to  de- 
light in. 

An  old  Edinburgh  friend,  the  excellent  Adam  Black, 
told  me  that  when  Scott  came  stumping  along  the 
road  with  his  cane  and  his  dogs,  and  raised  his  cheery 
voice  of  greeting,  it  seemed  as  if  his  merry  laugh  cleared 
the  whole  air,  and  Nature  herself  rejoiced  to  have  him 
abroad  amid  her  glories.  Mr.  Black  declared  him  to 
be  the  best-humored  man  that  ever  lived;  a  man 
whose  sympathy  was  always  ready,  and  whose  kindness 
was  enduring. 

One  who  knew  him  well,  said  that  it  was  impossible 
to  decide  whether  he  had  the  clearest  head  or  the  sound- 
est heart  in  all  Scotland.  How  they  loved  him  on 
Tweedside,  we  may  gather  from  his  son-in-law's  beauti- 
ful anecdote  of  the  poor  music-master  who  offered  Scott 
all  his  savings  when  the  great  novelist  fell  into  money 
difficulties. 

It  was  something  to  be  remembered  to  hear  Washing- 
ton Irving  discourse  of  Scott.  To  the  end  of  his  life  this 
charming  writer  could  not  speak  of  his  friend  without 
enthusiasm. 


306  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  The  glorious  old  minstrel,"  said  Irving,  "  came 
limping  (for  he  was  very  lame)  to  the  gate,  took  me  by 
the  hand,  and  we  were  friends  in  a  moment.  I  cannot 
express  to  you  my  delight  as  to  his  character  and  man- 
ners. He  was  a  sterling,  golden-hearted  old  worthy, 
full  of  the  joyousness  of  youth,  and  his  deportment 
toward  his  family,  his  neighbors,  his  domestics,  the  very 
dogs  and  cats,  I  can  never  forget;  everything  that 
came  within  his  influence  seemed  to  catch  a  beam  of 
the  sunshine  which  played  around  his  heart. 

"  He  entered  into  every  passing  scene  and  pleasure 
with  the  simple  enjoyment  of  a  child;  nothing  seemed 
too  high  or  remote  for  the  grasp  of  his  mind,  and  noth- 
ing too  trivial  for  the  kindness  and  pleasantry  of  his 
spirit." 

Sir  Walter  Scott's  boyhood  has  been  most  pleasantly 
described  by  himself,  and  is  full  of  interest.  At  Bath 
he  lived  a  year  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  waters,  and  it 
was  there  he  first  learned  to  read  at  a  dame's  school.  I 
think  his  lameness  gave  him  many  hours  of  leisure 
within  doors  which  he  might  not  have  had  if  his  limb 
had  been  sound.  At  any  rate,  he  devoured  books  at  a 
rapid  rate,  and  early  became  interested  in  deeds  of 
chivalry,  as  the  character  of  his  writings  clearly  in- 
dicates. 

He  read  with  avidity  everything  that  he  could  lay 
his  hands  upon  in  the  form  of  history  and  poetry. 
When  some  odd  volumes  of  Shakespeare  first  fell  in  his 
way  he  read  the  plays  with  a  kind  of  rapture,  sitting 
up  half -dressed,  and  rapidly  perusing  them  by  the 
light  of  a  midnight  fire  when  the  family  had  retired  to 
bed. 

As  Scott  grew  older,  a  kind  old  man  who  owned  a 
library  recommended  him  to  read  Ossian  and  Spenser, 
and  these  books  excited  him  to  a  wonderful  degree. 
All  this  time  he  was  a  scholar  in  the  High  School  of 
Edinburgh.  Soon  he  became  inspired  by  the  beauties 
of  the  natural  scenery  on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed  and 
the  Teviot,  and  this  early  love  of  the  beautiful  never 
deserted  him. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  307 

After  he  left  college  and  his  father  had  entered  him 
a  student  at  law,  he  began  to  compose  romances 
and  stirring  ballads,  which  he  repeated  with  much  ap- 
plause to  a  knot  of  cronies,  who  were  never  tired  of 
listening  to  Watty  Scott,  as  they  called  the  young  man. 

Lame  as  he  was,  he  was  a  great  walker  in  those  days, 
and  frequently  accomplished  thirty  miles  a  day  in  visit- 
ing ruins  and  old  battle-fields.  Wandering  over  the 
field  of  Bannockburn  gave  him  exquisite  pleasure,  and 
he  explored  many  an  old  castle  with  James  Ramsey,  his 
fellow  law  apprentice.  Sir  Walter  lamented  all  his  life 
long  that  he  had  not  studied  more  thoroughly  the  essen- 
tials of  a  good  education,  and  often  said  he  had  neg- 
lected his  school  advantages  in  early  youth.  But 
during  his  school  days  he  certainly  learned  many  things 
worth  knowing. 

When  Walter  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,  Robert  Burns,  the 
famous  Scottish  poet,  came  to  Edinburgh  for  a  first 
visit  to  the  capital.  Scott  was  very  anxious  to  meet 
Burns,  he  so  loved  his  poetry  and  so  honored  the  man, 
and  at  last  his  desire  was  gratified.  Burns  came  to 
Professor  Ferguson's,  one  day,  when  Scott  and  some 
half-dozen  other  youngsters  were  present.  An  engrav- 
ing of  a  dead  soldier  in  the  snow,  with  his  dog  by  his 
side,  and  his  widow  and  his  child  watching  near,  was 
handed  about  among  the  company.  Under  the  picture 
were  some  lines  descriptive  of  the  sad  scene. 

Burns  was  so  affected  by  the  picture  that  he  shed 
tears,  and  asked  who  was  the  author  of  the  lines.  No- 
body but  Walter  Scott  remembered,  and  he  whispered 
the  author's  name  to  a  friend  standing  near,  who  in- 
formed Burns.  The  poet  turned  and  looked  kindly  at 
the  lad,  and  Scott  remembered  that  look  all  his  life. 

Walter  Scott  is  indeed  a  literature  in  himself.  His 
genius  throws  a  luster  on  the  art  of  story-telling,  and 
renders  fiction  a  boon  to  the  human  race.  His  imagi- 
nation had  a  range  of  eight  centuries  to  unfold  itself  in, 
and  he  roamed  through  them  with  a  masterful  power 
and  beauty.  No  good  reader  ever  outgrows  Sir  Walter. 
Once  take  him  to  your  heart,  and  there  is  no  parting 


308  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

company  with  him  after  that.  In  age  he  will  be  just  as 
fresh  as  he  was  to  you  in  childhood,  and  you  will  never 
tire  of  his  delightful  companionship,  or  have  a  mis- 
understanding with  him. 

Lockhart,  in  his  description  of  Sir  Walter's  last  hours 
at  Abbotsford,  says:  "  As  I  was  dressing  on  the  mom- 
ing  of  Monday,  the  17th  of  September,  1832,  Nicolson 
came  into  my  room,  and  told  me  that  his  master  had 
awoke  in  a  state  of  composure,  and  wished  to  see  me  im- 
mediately. I  found  him  entirely  himself,  though  in  the 
last  stage  of  feebleness. 

"  *  Lockhart,'  he  said,  '  I  may  have  but  a  minute 
to  speak  to  you.  My  dear,  be  a  good  man  —  be  virtuous 
—  be  religious  —  be  a  good  man.  Nothing  else  will 
give  you  comfort  when  you  come  to  lie  here.'  With 
this  he  sank  into  a  tranquil  sleep.  But  the  contest  was 
soon  to  be  over. 

"  About  half-past  one  p.m.,  on  the  21st  of  September, 
Sir  Walter  breathed  his  last,  in  the  presence  of  all  his 
children.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  —  so  warm  that  every 
window  was  wide  open  —  and  so  still  that  the  sound 
most  delicious  to  his  ear,  the  gentle  ripple  of  the  Tweed 
over  its  pebbles,  was  distinctly  audible  as  we  knelt 
around  the  bed,  and  his  eldest  son  closed  and  kissed  his 

V  James  T.  Fields,  1817-1881. 

HOW  THE  LEAVES   CAME  DOWN 
"  I'll  tell  you  how  the  leaves  came  down," 

The  great  tree  to  his  children  said: 
"  You're  getting  sleepy,  Yellow  and  Brown, 

Yes,  very  sleepy,  little  Red." 

"  Ah!  "  begged  each  silly  pouting  leaf, 

"  Let  us  a  little  longer  stay; 
Dear  Father  Tree,  behold  our  grief; 

'Tis  such  a  very  pleasant  day, 

We  do  not  want  to  go  away." 

So,  just  for  one  more  merry  day 

To  the  great  tree  the  leaflets  clung, 
Frolicked  and  danced,  and  had  their  way, 

Upon  the  autumn  breezes  swung, 

Whispering  all  their  sports  among. 


FOR    ORAL    ENGLISH  309 

"  Perhaps  the  great  tree  will  forget, 

And  let  us  stay  until  the  spring, 
If  we  all  beg,  and  coax,  and  fret." 

But  the  great  tree  did  no  such  thing; 

He  smiled  to  hear  their  whispering. 

"  Come,  children  all,  to  bed,"  he  cried; 
And  ere  the  leaves  could  urge  their  prayer, 

He  shook  his  head,  and  far  and  wide, 
Fluttering  and  rustling  everywhere, 
Down  sped  the  leaflets  through  the  air. 

I  saw  them;  on  the  ground  they  lay, 
Golden  and  red,  a  huddled  swarm, 

Waiting  till  one  from  far  away, 

White  bedclothes  heaped  upon  her  arm, 
Should  come  to  wrap  them  safe  and  warm. 

The  great  bare  tree  looked  down  and  smiled. 

"  Good  night,  dear  little  leaves,"  he  said. 
And  from  below  each  sleepy  child 

Replied,  "  Good  night,"  and  murmured, 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  go  to  bed!  " 

Sarah  Chauncey  Woolsey  (Susan  Coolidge),  1845-1905. 

THE  GOLDEN  RULE 

"  With  what  judgment  ye  judge  ye  shall  be  judged; 
and  with  what  measure  ye  mete  it  shall  be  measured 
unto  you.  .  .  .  All  things  therefore  whatsoever  ye 
would  that  men  should  do  unto  you,  even  so  do  ye  also 
unto  them:  for  this  is  the  law  and  the  prophets." 

As  I  view  it,  the  Golden  Rule  is  the  supreme  law  of 
life.  It  may  be  paraphrased  this  way:  As  you  do  unto 
others,  others  will  do  unto  you.  What  I  give,  I  get.  If 
I  love  you,  really  and  truly  and  actively  love  you,  you 
are  as  sure  to  love  me  in  return  as  the  earth  is  sure 
to  be  warmed  by  the  rays  of  the  midsummer  sun.  If  I 
hate  you,  illtreat  you  and  abuse  you,  I  am  equally 
certain  to  arouse  the  same  kind  of  antagonism  towards 
me,  unless  the  Divine  nature  is  so  developed  that  it  is 
dominant  in  you,  and  you  have  learned  to  love  your 
enemies.  What  can  be  plainer.  The  Golden  Rule  is 
the  law  of  action  and  reaction  in  the  field  of  morals, 
just  as  definite,  just  as  certain  here  as  the  law  is  definite 
and  certain  in  the  domain  of  physics.  I  think  the  con- 


310  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

fusion  with  respect  to  the  Golden  Rule  arises  from  the 
different  conceptions  that  we  have  of  the  word  love.  I 
use  the  word  love  as  synonymous  with  reason,  and  so 
when  I  speak  of  doing  the  loving  thing,  I  mean  the 
reasonable  thing.  When  I  speak  of  dealing  with  my 
fellowmen  in  an  unreasonable  way,  I  mean  an  un- 
loving way.  The  terms  are  interchangeable  absolutely. 
The  reason  why  we  know  so  little  about  the  Golden 
Rule  is  because  we  have  not  practiced  it. 

Samuel  Milton  Jonet,  1846-1904. 
THE  PESSIMIST 

Nothing  to  do  but  work,  nothing  to  eat  but  food, 

Nothing  to  wear  but  clothes  to  keep  one  from  going  nude. 

Nothing  to  breathe  but  air,  quick  as  a  flash  'tis  gone; 
Nowhere  to  fall  but  off,  nowhere  to  stand  but  on. 

Nothing  to  comb  but  hair,  nowhere  to  sleep  but  in  bed, 
Nothing  to  weep  but  tears,  nothing  to  bury  but  dead. 

Nothing  to  sing  but  songs,  Ah,  well,  alas!  alack! 

Nowhere  to  go  but  out,  no  where  to  come  but  back. 

Nothing  to  see  but  sights,  nothing  to  quench  but  thirst, 

Nothing  to  have  but  what  we've  got;    thus  thro'  life  we  are 

cursed. 
Nothing  to  strike  but  a  gait;   everything  moves  that  goes, 

Nothing  at  all  but  common  sense,  can  ever  withstand  these 
woes. 

Ben  King. 
THE  SHOEMAKER  AND  THE  FAIRIES 

A  shoemaker  once  became  so  very  poor  —  not  by  any 
fault  of  his  own  —  that  at  last  he  had  only  just  enough 
leather  to  make  one  pair  of  shoes.  So  one  evening  he 
cut  out  the  shoes  from  this  piece  of  leather,  and  laid 
them  in  readiness  to  begin  work  early  the  next  morning. 

In  the  morning  he  rose  and  went  to  his  work,  but  how 
surprised  he  was  to  find  the  shoes  lying  on  the  table 
quite  finished.  In  his  surprise  he  knew  not  what  to 
think.  He  took  the  shoes  in  his  hand  and  examined 
them,  but  they  were  beautifully  made  —  indeed,  a 
masterpiece  of  workmanship. 

The  shoemaker  placed  them  in  his  window,  and  very 
soon  a  customer  came  in  who  was  so  pleased  with  them 
that  he  offered  to  purchase  them  at  more  than  the  usual 
price.  The  shoemaker  could,  therefore,  with  this 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  311 

money  buy  leather  enough  to  make  two  pairs  of  shoes. 
He  prepared  the  leather  in  the  evening,  that  he  might 
begin  to  work  next  morning  early.  But  he  had  no  need 
to  begin,  for  on  entering  the  workshop  there  stood  two 
pairs  of  shoes  beautifully  finished.  He  had  no  lack  of 
customers  now,  for  two  came  in  and  paid  such  a  good 
price  for  the  two  pairs  that  he  had  money  enough  to  buy 
leather  for  four  pairs.  This  he  cut  into  four  pairs  of 
shoes,  which  he  laid  ready  for  work  the  next  morning; 
but  on  coming  down,  there  were  the  shoes  quite  finished. 
And  so  it  went  on  —  what  he  cut  out  at  night  was  al- 
ways completed  by  the  morning,  till  he  had  nothing  to 
do  but  buy  the  leather  and  cut  out  shoes.  So  much 
money  came  pouring  in  that  the  poor  old  shoemaker 
soon  became  a  wealthy  tradesman. 

Now  it  happened  one  evening,  not  long  before  Christ- 
mas, that  after  the  shoemaker  had  been  cutting  out 
several  pairs  of  shoes,  he  said:  "  My  dear,  I  should  like  to 
find  out  who  these  good  creatures  are  who  help  us  every 
night.  Suppose  we  sit  up  and  watch?  " 

Leaving  the  candle  burning,  they  hid  themselves  in  a 
corner  of  the  room.  As  the  clock  struck  twelve,  there 
came  into  the  room  two  pretty  little  fairies;  and  seat- 
ing themselves  on  the  shoemaker's  table,  they  took  up 
the  leather  which  he  had  cut  out  and  set  to  work  with 
such  swiftness  that  the  shoemaker  became  quite  be- 
wildered. They  did  not  stop  for  a  moment  till  all  the 
shoes  were  completed;  then  they  skipped  off  the  table 
and  vanished. 

The  next  morning  the  wife  said  to  her  husband: 
"  These  little  men  have  made  us  so  rich  that  we  ought 
to  do  something  for  them  in  return  for  their  kindness. 
I  mean  to  make  them  little  shirts,  trousers,  waistcoats, 
and  coats;  and  if  you  will  get  a  pair  of  little  shoes  ready 
for  each  of  them  I  will  knit  some  stockings,  and  then 
these  good  little  men  will  be  comfortably  clothed  from 
head  to  foot." 

"  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to  help  you,"  said  the  hus- 
band. 

So  they  set  to  work  busily,  and  in  a  very  few  days  the 


312  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

clothes  were  quite  ready.  In  the  evening  they  laid 
their  gifts  on  the  table  in  the  workshop,  and  hid  them- 
selves in  a  corner.  At  midnight  the  little  men  came 
bounding  in,  and  jumped  on  the  table,  expecting  to  see 
the  leather  cut  out  for  them  to  begin  work.  But  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  except  those  beautiful  little  clothes.  At 
first  they  were  much  surprised,  but  soon  began  to  dress 
themselves  in  eager  haste,  and  were  so  delighted  that 
they  danced  about  the  room,  and  at  last  danced  out 
through  the  door,  and  never  came  back  any  more. 

But  after  this  the  shoemaker,  who  had  been  kind  to 
those  who  helped  him,  prospered  in  everything  he  did, 
and  neither  he  nor  his  wife  ever  wanted  money  again  as 
long  as  they  lived. 

Adapted  from  "  Grimm's  Fairy  Tale*." 

THE   POET'S  SONG 

The  rain  had  fallen,  the  poet  arose, 

He  passed  by  the  town  and  out  of  the  street, 

A  light  wind  blew  from  the  gates  of  the  sun 

And  the  waves  of  shadow  went  over  the  wheat, 

And  he  sat  him  down  in  a  lonely  place 
And  chanted  a  melody  loud  and  sweet 
That  made  the  wild  swan  pause  in  her  cloud 

And  the  lark  drop  down  at  his  feet. 

The  swallow  stopped  as  he  hunted  the  fly, 

The  snake  slipped  under  a  spray, 

The  wild  hawk  stood  with  the  down  on  his  beak 

And  stared  with  his  foot  on  the  prey, 

And  the  nightingale  thought,  "  I  have  sung  many  songs, 

But  never  a  one  so  gay, 

For  he  sings  of  what  the  world  will  be 
When  the  years  have  died  away." 

Alfred  Tennyson,  1809-1892. 

THE  OLD  SCRAP  BOOK 

Mr.  Peters,  an  eccentric  old  merchant,  stuck  up  a 
notice  in  a  window  of  his  store  —  "boy  wanted,"  but 
the  card  remained  there  a  great  while  before  he  got  the 
boy  he  was  after. 

Mr.  Peters  had  a  peculiar  way  of  trying  boys  who  ap- 
plied. There  was  a  huge  long  box  in  the  attic,  full  of 
old  nails  and  screws,  and  miscellaneous  bits  of  rusty 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  313 

hardware,  and  when  a  new  boy  came,  the  old  gentle- 
man presently  found  occasion  to  send  him  up  there  to 
set  the  box  to  rights.  All  pottered  over  it  more  or  less, 
but  soon  gave  it  up  in  disgust,  and  reported  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  box  worth  saving. 

At  last  Crawford  Mills  was  hired.  He  knew  none  of 
the  other  boys,  and  so  did  his  errands  in  blissful  ignor- 
ance of  the  "  long  box  "  until  the  second  morning  of  his 
stay,  when  in  a  leisure  hour  he  was  sent  to  put  it  in 
order.  The  morning  passed,  dinner-time  came,  and 
still  Crawford  had  not  appeared  from  the  attic.  At 
last  Mr.  Peters  called  him.  "  Got  through?" 

"  No,  sir;  there  is  ever  so  much  more  to  do." 

"All  right;  it  is  dinner-time  now;  you  may  go  back 
to  it  after  dinner." 

After  dinner  back  he  went.  All  the  short  afternoon 
he  was  not  heard  from,  but  just  as  Mr.  Peters  was  de- 
ciding to  call  him  again,  he  appeared. 

"I've  done  my  best,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  down  at  the 
very  bottom  of  the  box  I  found  this."  "This"  was  a 
five-dollar  gold  piece,  which  Crawford  handed  to  Mr. 
Peters. 

"That's  a  queer  place  for  gold,"  said  Mr.  Peters; 
"it's  good  you  found  it.  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  you  will 
be  on  hand  to-morrow  morning?"  This  he  said  put- 
ting the  gold  piece  into  his  pocketbook. 

After  Crawford  had  said  good  night  and  gone,  Mr. 
Peters  took  the  lantern  and  went  slowly  up  the  attic 
stairs.  There  was  the  long  deep  box  in  which  the  rub- 
bish of  twenty-five  years  had  gathered. 

Crawford  had  evidently  been  to  the  bottom  of  it; 
he  had  fitted  in  pieces  of  shingle  to  make  compartments, 
and  in  the  different  tills  he  had  placed  the  articles, 
with  bits  of  shingle  laid  on  top,  labeled  thus:  "Good 
screws,"  "Pretty  good  nails,"  "Picture  nails,"  "Small 
keys,  somewhat  bent,"  "Picture  hooks,"  "Pieces  of 
iron;"  and  so  on  through  the  long  box. 

In  perfect  order  the  box  was,  at  last,  and  very 
little  that  could  really  be  called  useful  was  to  be  found 
within  it.  Mr.  Peters,  as  he  read  the  labels,  laughed 


314  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

and  said,  "If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  have  found  a  boy, 
and  he  has  found  a  place." 

Sure  enough,  the  sign  disappeared  from  the  window, 
and  was  seen  no  more.  Crawford  became  errand-boy 
to  the  well-known  firm  of  Peters  &  Co.  He  had  a  little 
room  neatly  fitted  up  next  to  the  attic,  where  he  spent 
his  evenings,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  hung  a  motto 
which  Mr.  Peters  gave  him. 

"It  tells  your  fortune  for  you;  don't  forget  it," 
Mr.  Peters  said  when  he  handed  it  to  Crawford;  and 
the  boy  laughed  and  read  it  curiously:  "He  that  is 
faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  is  faithful  also  in  much." 

All  this  happened  ten  or  twelve  years  ago.  Craw- 
ford Mills  is  an  errand-boy  no  more,  but  the  firm  is 
now  Peters,  Mills,  &  Co. 

From  "  The  Panay." 

THE  GIFT  OF  TRITEMIUS 

Tritrmius  of  Herbipolis,  one  day, 
While  kneeling  at  the  altar's  foot  to  pray, 
Alone  with  God,  as  was  his  pious  choice, 
Heard  from  without  a  miserable  voice,  .  .  . 
Thereat  the  Abbot  paused;  the  chain  whereby 
His  thoughts  went  upward  broken  by  that  cry; 
And,  looking  from  the  casement,  saw  below 
A  wretched  woman,  with  grey  hair  a-flow, 
And  withered  hands  held  up  to  him,  who  cried 
For  alms  as  one  who  might  not  be  denied. 

She  cried,  "  For  the  dear  love  of  Him  who  gave 
His  life  for  ours,  my  child  from  bondage  save  — 
/       My  beautiful,  brave  first-born,  chained  with  slaves 
In  the  Moor's  galley,  where  the  sun-smit  waves 
Lap  the  white  walls  of  Tunis!  "  —  "  What  I  can 
I  give,"  Tritemius  said:  "  my  prayers."  —  "  O  man 
Of  God!  "  she  cried,  for  grief  had  made  her  bold, 
"  Mock  me  not  thus;  I  ask  not  prayers,  but  gold. 
Words  will  not  serve  me,  alms  alone  suffice; 
Even  while  I  speak  perchance  my  first-born  dies." 

"  Woman!  "  Tritemius  answered,  "  from  our  door 

None  go  unfed;  hence  are  we  always  poor, 

A  single  soldo  is  our  only  store. 

Thou  hast  our  prayers;  —  what  can  we  give  thee  more?  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  315 

"  Give  me,"  she  said,  "  the  silver  candlesticks 
On  either  side  of  the  great  crucifix. 
God  well  may  spare  them  on  His  errands  sped, 
Or  He  can  give  you  golden  ones  instead." 

Then  spake  Tritemius,  "  Even  as  thy  word, 

Woman,  so  be  it!     (Our  most  gracious  Lord, 

Who  loveth  mercy  more  than  sacrifice, 

Pardon  me  if  a  human  soul  I  prize 

Above  the  gifts  upon  His  altar  piled!) 

Take  what  thou  askest,  and  redeem  thy  child." 

But  his  hand  trembled  as  the  holy  alms 
He  placed  within  the  beggar's  eager  palms; 
And  as  she  vanished  down  the  linden  shade 
He  bowed  his  head  and  for  forgiveness  prayed. 
So  the  day  passed,  and  when  the  twilight  came 
He  woke  to  find  the  chapel  all  aflame, 
And,  dumb  with  grateful  wonder,  to  behold 
Upon  the  altar  candlesticks  of  gold ! 

John  Greenlcaf  Whittier. 

TO  A  REDBREAST 

Little  bird,  with  bosom  red, 
Welcome  to  my  humble  shed ! 
Courtly  domes  oi'  high  degree 
Have  no  room  for  thee  or  me; 
Pride  and  pleasure's  fickle  throng 
Nothing  mind  an  idle  song. 
Daily  near  my  table  steal, 
While  I  pick  my  scanty  meal. 
Doubt  not,  little  though  there  be, 
But  I'll  cast  a  crumb  to  thee, 
Well  rewarded  if  I  spy 
Pleasure  in  thy  glancing  eye; 
See  thee,  when  thou'st  eat  thy  fill, 
Plume  thy  breast,  and  wipe  thy  bill, 
Come,  my  feathered  friend,  again, 
Well  thou  know'st  the  broken  pane. 

John  Langhorne,  1735-1779. 

KING  JOHN  AND  THE  KNIGHT 

Two  kings  were  fiercely  contending  for  the  crown  of 
Spain.  I  do  not  remember  their  names,  but  to  make 
the  story  simple,  let  us  call  one  Alfonso  and  the  other 
John.  Of  course  John  declared  that  Alfonso  was  a 
traitor,  and  Alfonso  said  that  John  was  a  rebel  and 
must  be  put  down.  At  last,  in  a  great  battle,  John 


316  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

overthrew  his  rival  and  made  himself  master  of  the 
country.  But  one  strong  town  true  to  Alfonso  still 
held  out,  and  although  John  besieged  it  with  all  his 
army,  he  could  not  take  it. 

"  You  have  done  enough  for  honor,"  said  King  John 
one  day  to  the  knight,  who  commanded  the  city. 
"  Come,  open  the  gates  of  the  town  to  my  army,  and  I 
promise  that  you  shall  not  suffer." 

"  If  you  had  read  the  history  of  our  country,"  an- 
swered he,  "  you  would  have  learned  that  no  man  of 
my  family  ever  surrenders." 

"Then  I  will  starve  you  where  you  are!" 

"  Starve  the  eagle  if  you  can,"  said  the  knight. 

"  I  will  put  you  and  your  town  to  the  sword." 

"  Try  it,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  siege  went  on. 

One  morning,  as  the  rising  sun  was  beginning  to  gild 
with  its  rays  the  highest  towers  of  the  city,  a  trumpet 
sounded  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy.  It  was  the  signal 
for  a  parley.  The  old  knight  soon  appeared  on  the 
wall  and  looked  down  on  the  king. 

"  Surrender,"  said  King  John  again.  "  My  rival 
Alfonso  is  dead,  and  our  dispute  is  ended." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  believe  that  you  speak  the 
truth,  but  I  must  see  my  dead  master." 

"  Go, then, to  Seville, where  his  body  lies,  "said  the  king. 
"  You  have  my  word  that  no  harm  shall  befall  you." 

The  knight  came  out  with  banners  flying  and  an 
escort  of  half-starved  warriors.  As  he  rode  slowly 
along,  the  soldiers  who  knew  of  his  courage  and  his 
many  brave  deeds,  greeted  him  with  loud  shouts  and 
gazed  after  him  until  the  red  plume  above  his  helmet 
had  disappeared  in  the  distance. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  Seville,  he  went  straight  to  the 
great  church  where  he  was  told  the  body  of  his  master 
was  still  lying  in  its  open  coffin.  Gazing  awhile  with 
tearful  eyes  at  the  pale  face  which  met  his  look,  he  thus 
spoke  to  the  dead  Alfonso:  "  Sir,  I  promised  never  to 
surrender  to  any  one  but  yourself  the  keys  of  the  town 
which  you  intrusted  to  my  care,  Here  they  are.  I 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  317 

have  kept  my  promise."  With  that,  he  laid  the  keys  on 
the  breast  of  his  master,  and,  mounting  his  steed,  he 
galloped  back  to  his  post. 

"  Well,"  said  the  king,  "  are  you  satisfied,  and  are 
you  willing  to  give  up?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"  But  where  are  the  keys  of  the  town?  " 

"  I  have  delivered  them  to  my  master,  King  Alfonso, 
and  of  him  you  may  get  them.  Now  I  ride  on,  and  we 
shall  meet  no  more." 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  king.  "You  shall  hold  the  town 
for  me  and  be  its  governor  in  my  name." 

The  followers  of  the  king  murmured,  and  complained 
at  his  thus  rewarding  a  rebel.  "  He  is  no  longer  a 
rebel,"  said  King  John;  "  such  men  when  won,  become 
the  best  of  subjects." 

Abridged.  Charles  E.  A.  Gayarre,  1805-1895. 

SCYTHE  SONG 

Mowers,  weary  and  brown,  and  blithe, 

What  is  the  word  methinks  ye  know, 
Endless  over-word  that  the  Scythe 

Sings  to  the  blades  of  the  grass  below? 
Scythes  that  swing  in  the  grass  and  clover, 

Something,  still,  they  say  as  they  pass; 
What  is  the  word  that,  over  and  over, 

Sings  the  Scythe  to  the  flowers  and  grass? 

Hush,  ah  hush,  the  Scythes  are  saying, 

Hush,  and  heed  not,  and  fall  asleep; 
Hush,  they  say  to  the  grasses  swaying, 

Hush,  they  sing  to  the  clover  deep! 
Hush  —  'tis  the  lullaby  Time  is  singing  — 

Hush,  and  heed  not,  for  all  things  pass, 
Hush,  ah  hush!  and  the  Scythes  are  swinging 

Over  the  clover,  over  the  grass! 

Andrew  Lang,  1844-1912. 

LITTLE  DAFFYDOWNDILLY 

Daffydowndilly  was  so  called  because  in  his  nature 
he  resembled  a  flower,  and  loved  to  do  only  what  was 
beautiful  and  agreeable,  and  took  no  delight  in  labor  of 
any  kind.  But  while  Daffydowndilly  was  yet  a  little 
boy,  his  mother  sent  him  away  from  his  pleasant  home, 


318  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

and  put  him  under  the  care  of  a  very  strict  school- 
master, who  went  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Toil.  .  .  . 

The  whole  day  long,  this  terrible  old  schoolmaster  sat 
at  his  desk  overlooking  the  scholars,  or  stalked  about 
the  schoolroom  with  a  certain  awful  birch  rod  in  his 
hand.  Now  came  a  rap  over  the  shoulders  of  a  boy 
whom  Mr.  Toil  had  caught  at  play;  now  he  punished  a 
whole  class  who  were  behindhand  with  their  lessons; 
and,  in  short,  unless  a  lad  chose  to  attend  quietly  and 
constantly  to  his  book,  he  had  no  chance  of  enjoying  a 
quiet  moment  in  the  schoolroom  of  Mr.  Toil.  .  .  . 

"  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer,"  said  Daffydowndilly  to 
himself,  when  he  had  been  at  school  about  a  week. 
"  I'll  run  away,  and  try  to  find  my  dear  mother;  and, 
at  any  rate,  I  shall  never  find  anybody  half  so  dis- 
agreeable as  this  old  Mr.  Toil!  " 

So,  the  very  next  morning,  off  started  poor  Daffy- 
downdilly, and  began  his  rambles  about  the  world. 
.  .  .  But  he  had  gone  only  a  short  distance  when  he 
overtook  a  man  of  grave  and  sedate  appearance,  who 
was  trudging  at  a  moderate  pace  along  the  road. 

"  Good  morning,  my  fine  lad,"  said  the  stranger;  and 
his  voice  seemed  hard  and  severe,  but  yet  had  a  sort  of 
kindness  in  it;  "  whence  do  you  come  so  early,  and 
whither  are  you  going?  " 

Little  Daffydowndilly  was  a  boy  of  very  ingenuous 
disposition,  and  had  never  been  known  to  tell  a  lie  in 
all  his  life.  Nor  did  he  tell  one  now.  He  hesitated  a 
a  moment  or  two,  but  finally  confessed  that  he  had  run 
away  from  school,  on  account  of  his  great  dislike  to 
Mr.  Toil;  and  that  he  was  resolved  to  find  some  place 
in  the  world  where  he  should  never  see  or  hear  of  the 
old  schoolmaster  again. 

"Oh,  very  well,  my  little  friend!"  answered  the 
stranger.  "  Then  we  will  go  together;  for  I,  like- 
wise, have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  Mr.  Toil,  and 
should  be  glad  to  find  some  place  where  he  was  never 
heard  of."  . 

They  had  not  gone  far,  when  the  road  passed  by  a 
field  where  some  haymakers  were  at  work  mowing 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  319 

down  the  tall  grass,  and  spreading  it  out  in  the  sun  to 
dry.  .  .  .  Daffydowndilly  thought  how  much  pleas- 
anter  it  must  be  to  make  hay  in  the  sunshine,  under  the 
blue  sky,  and  with  the  birds  singing  sweetly  in  the 
neighboring  trees  and  bushes,  than  to  be  shut  up  in  a 
dismal  schoolroom,  learning  lessons  all  day  long.  But, 
in  the  midst  of  these  thoughts  ...  he  started  back. 

"  Quick,  quick!  "  cried  he.  "  Let  us  run  away,  or  he 
will  catch  us!  " 

"  Who  will  catch  us?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  Mr.  Toil,  the  old  schoolmaster!  "  answered  Daffy- 
downdilly. "  Don't  you  see  him  amongst  the  hay- 
makers? " 

And  Daffydowndilly  pointed  to  an  elderly  man,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  owner  of  the  field.  .  .  .  Now,  strange 
to  say,  the  figure  and  features  of  this  old  farmer  were 
precisely  the  same  as  those  of  old  Mr.  Toil,  who,  at 
that  very  moment,  must  have  been  just  entering  his 
schoolroom. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  the  stranger.  "  This  is  not 
Mr.  Toil  the  schoolmaster,  but  a  brother  of  his,  who 
was  bred  a  farmer;  and  people  say  he  is  the  most  dis- 
agreeable man  of  the  two.  However,  he  won't  trouble 
you,  unless  you  become  a  laborer  on  the  farm." 

Little  Daffydowndilly  believed  what  his  companion 
said,  but  was  very  glad,  nevertheless,  when  they  were 
out  of  sight  of  the  old  farmer,  who  bore  such  a  singular 
resemblance  to  Mr.  Toil.  The  two  travelers  had  gone 
but  little  farther,  when  they  came  to  a  spot  where 
some  carpenters  were  erecting  a  house.  Daffydowndilly 
begged  his  companion  to  stop  a  moment;  for  it  was  a 
very  pretty  sight  to  see  how  neatly  the  carpenters  did 
their  work,  .  .  .  and  he  could  not  help  thinking  that 
he  should  like  to  take  a  broad-axe,  a  saw,  a  plane,  and 
a  hammer  and  build  a  little  house  for  himself.  And 
then,  when  he  should  have  a  house  of  his  own,  old  Mr. 
Toil  would  never  dare  to  molest  him. 

But,  just  while  he  was  delighting  himself  with  this 
idea,  little  Daffydowndilly  beheld  something  that  made 
him  catch  hold  of  his  companion's  hand,  all  in  a  fright. 


320  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"Make  haste.  Quick,  quick!"  cried  he.  "There 
he  is  again!  " 

"  Who?  "  asked  the  stranger,  very  quietly. 

"  Old  Mr.  Toil,"  said  Daffydowndilly,  trembling. 
"  There!  he  that  is  overseeing  the  carpenters.  'Tis  my 
old  schoolmaster,  as  sure  as  I'm  alive." 

The  stranger  cast  his  eyes  where  Daffydowndilly 
pointed  his  finger;  and  he  saw  an  elderly  man.  .  .  . 
This  person  went  to  and  fro  about  the  unfinished  house, 
measuring  pieces  of  timber,  and  marking  out  the  work 
that  was  to  be  done,  and  continually  exhorting  the 
other  carpenters  to  be  diligent.  .  .  . 

"  Oh,  no!  this  is  not  Mr.  Toil,  the  schoolmaster," 
said  the  stranger.  "It  is  another  brother  of  his,  who 
follows  the  trade  of  carpenter." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  quoth  Daffydowndilly; 
"  but  if  you  please,  sir,  I  should  like  to  get  out  of  his 
way  as  soon  as  possible." 

Then  they  went  on  a  little  farther,  .  .  .  and  soon  met 
a  company  of  soldiers,  gayly  dressed,  with  beautiful 
feathers  in  their  caps,  and  bright  muskets  on  their 
shoulders.  In  front  marched  two  drummers  and  two 
fifers,  making  such  lively  music  that  little  Daffydown- 
dilly would  gladly  have  followed  them  to  the  end  of  the 
world.  And  if  he  was  only  a  soldier,  then,  he  said  to 
himself,  old  Mr.  Toil  would  never  venture  to  look  him 
in  the  face. 

"Quick  step!  Forward  march!"  shouted  a  gruff 
voice. 

Little  Daffydowndilly  started,  in  great  dismay;  for 
this  voice  sounded  precisely  the  same  as  that  which  he 
had  heard  every  day  in  Mr.  Toil's  schoolroom.  .  .  . 
And,  turning  his  eyes  to  the  captain  of  the  company, 
what  should  he  see  but  the  very  image  of  old  Mr.  Toil 
himself,  with  a  long  sword,  instead  of  a  birch  rod,  in 
his  hand.  .  .  . 

"  This  is  certainly  old  Mr.  Toil,"  said  Daffydown- 
dilly, in  a  trembling  voice.  "  Let  us  run  away,  for  fear 
he  should  make  us  enlist  in  his  company!  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  321 

"  You  are  mistaken  again,  my  little  friend,"  replied 
the  stranger,  very  composedly.  "  This  is  not  Mr.  Toil, 
.  .  .  but  a  brother  of  his,  who  has  served  in  the  army 
all  his  life."  .  .  . 

"  Well,  well,"  said  little  Daffy downdilly,  "  but,  if  you 
please,  sir,  I  don't  want  to  see  the  soldiers  any  more." 

So  the  child  and  the  stranger  resumed  their  journey; 
and,  by  and  by,  they  came  to  a  house  by  the  roadside, 
where  a  number  of  people  were  making  merry.  Young 
men  and  rosy-cheeked  girls  were  dancing  to  the  sound 
of  a  fiddle. 

"  Oh,  let  us  stop  here,"  cried  he  to  his  companion; 
"  for  Mr.  Toil  will  never  dare  to  show  his  face  where 
there  is  a  fiddler,  and  where  people  are  dancing  and 
making  merry.  We  shall  be  quite  safe  here." 

But  these  last  words  died  away  upon  Daffydown- 
dilly's  tongue;  for,  happening  to  cast  his  eyes  on  the 
fiddler,  whom  should  he  behold  again  but  the  likeness 
of  Mr.  Toil,  holding  a  fiddle-bow  instead  of  a  birch  rod, 
and  flourishing  it  with  as  much  ease  and  dexterity  as  if 
he  had  been  a  fiddler  all  his  life!  .  .  . 

"Oh,  dear  me!"  whispered  he,  turning  pale,  "it 
seems  as  if  there  was  nobody  but  Mr.  Toil  in  the  world." 

"  This  is  not  your  old  schoolmaster,"  observed  the 
stranger,  "  but  another  brother  of  his,  who  is  a  fiddler. 
His  real  name  is  Toil,  and  those  who  have  known  him 
best  think  him  still  more  disagreeable  than  his  brothers." 

Well,  thus  the  stranger  and  little  Daffydowndilly 
went  wandering  along  the  highway,  and  in  shady  lanes, 
and  through  pleasant  villages;  and  whithersoever  they 
went,  behold!  there  was  the  image  of  old  Mr.  Toil. 

"Oh,  take  me  back!  —  take  me  back!"  cried  poor 
little  Daffydowndilly,  bursting  into  tears.  "  If  there  is 
nothing  but  Toil  all  the  world  over,  I  may  just  as  well 
go  back  to  the  schoolhouse!  " 

"  Yonder  it  is  —  there  is  the  schoolhouse!  "  said  the 
stranger;  for  though  he  and  little  Daffydowndilly  had 
taken  a  great  many  steps,  they  had  traveled  in  a  circle 
instead  of  a  straight  line.  "  Come;  we  will  go  back  to 
school  together." 


322  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

There  was  something  in  his  companion's  voice  that 
little  Daffydowndilly  now  remembered.  Looking  up 
into  his  face,  behold !  there  again  was  the  likeness  of  old 
Mr.  Toil;  so  that  the  poor  child  had  been  in  company 
with  Toil  all  day,  even  while  he  was  doing  his  best  to 
run  away  from  him.  .  .  . 

And  when  he  became  better  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Toil,  he  began  to  think  that  his  ways  were  not  so  very 
disagreeable,  and  that  the  old  schoolmaster's  smile  of 
approbation  made  his  face  almost  as  pleasant  as  even 
that  of  Daffydowndilly's  mother. 

Adapted.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  1804-1864. 

THE  GIFT  OF  EMPTY  HANDS 

They  were  two  Princes  doomed  to  death ; 
Each  loved  his  beauty  and  his  breath : 
"  Leave  us  our  life  and  we  will  bring 
Fair  gifts  unto  our  lord,  the  King.  *' 

They  went  together.     In  the  dew 
A  charmed  bird  before  them  flew. 
Through  sun  and  thorn  one  followed  it; 
Upon  the  other's  arm  it  lit. 

A  rose,  whose  faintest  flush  was  worth 
All  buds  that  ever  blew  on  earth, 
One  climbed  the  rocks  to  reach ;  ah,  well, 
Into  the  other's  breast  it  fell. 

Weird  jewels,  such  as  fairies  wear, 
When  moons  go  out,  to  light  their  hair, 
One  tried  to  touch  on  ghostly  ground; 
Gems  of  quick  fire  the  other  found. 

One  with  the  dragon  fought  to  gain 
The  enchanted  fruit,  and  fought  in  vain; 
The  other  breathed  the  garden's  air 
And  gathered  precious  apples  there. 

Backward  to  the  imperial  gate 

One  took  his  fortune,  one  his  fate: 

One  showed  sweet  gifts  from  sweetest  lands, 

The  other,  torn  and  empty  hands. 

At  bird,  and  rose,  and  gem,  and  fruit, 
The  King  was  sad,  the  King  was  mute; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  323 

At  last  he  slowly  said:  "  My  son, 
True  treasure  is  not  lightly  won. 

"  Your  brother's  hands,  wherein  you  see 
Only  these  scars,  show  more  to  me 
Than  if  a  kingdom's  price  I  found 
In  place  of  each  forgotten  wound.  " 

Mrs.  S.  M.  B.  Piatt. 


PARABLE  OF  LIFE 

One  day,  when  the  birds  had  sung  themselves  quite 
weary,  a  long  pause  ensued,  broken  at  last  by  a  philo- 
sophical chaffinch,  in  these  words,  "  What  is  life?  " 

They  were  all  rather  startled  at  the  interruption,  but 
a  little  warbler  answered  at  once,  "  Life  is  a  song." 

"  No,  it  is  a  struggle  in  darkness,"  said  a  mole  who 
had  just  succeeded  in  getting  his  head  above  the  ground. 

"  I  think  it  is  a  development,"  said  a  wild  rose-bud, 
as  she  unfolded  her  petals  one  by  one  to  the  delight  of  a 
butterfly,  who  came  to  kiss  her,  and  exclaimed,  "Life  is 
all  enjoyment!  " 

"  Call  it  rather  a  short  summer's  day,"  hummed  a 
little  fly  as  it  passed  by. 

"  I  cannot  see  anything  but  hard  work,"  was  the 
lamentation  of  a  small  ant,  as  she  struggled  on  with  a 
straw  ever  so  much  too  big  for  her. 

The  magpie  only  laughed  to  cover  his  own  poverty  of 
thought. 

The  general  indignation  at  such  levity  might  easily 
have  produced  a  quarrel,  had  not  at  that  moment  the 
rain  begun  to  fall,  whispering  sadly,  "  Life  is  made  up 
of  tears." 

"  You  are  all  mistaken,"  called  out  the  eagle  as  he 
sailed  through  the  air  on  his  majestic  wings;  "  Life  is 
freedom  and  strength." 

Meanwhile  it  had  grown  dark,  and  a  practically- 
minded  bullfinch  proposed  that  they  should  all  go  to 
rest.  And  the  night-wind  rustled  softly  through  the 
branches,  "  Life  is  a  dream." 

Silence  lay  over  town  and  country,  and  dawn  was 


324  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

near,  when  the  scholar  in  his  lonely  room  extinguished 
his  lamp  and  sighed,  "  Life  is  but  a  school." 

And  the  youth  returning  from  a  night  of  revelry 
moaned  in  his  heart,  "  Life  is  one  long  desire  ever  un- 
fulfilled." 

"  It  is  an  eternal  mystery,"  whispered  fitfully  the 
new-born  morning  breeze. 

Then  suddenly  a  rosy  light  spread  over  the  horizon, 
and  singed  with  its  glow  the  tops  of  the  forest  trees  as 
it  rose  in  the  sky.  And  as  the  morning  kissed  the 
awakening  earth,  a  mighty  harmony  rang  through  the 
world,  "  Life  is  a  Beginning." 

Not  known. 
WHIPPOORWILL   SONG 

Let  down  the  bars;  drive  in  the  cows; 

The  west  is  barred  with  burning  rose. 
Unhitch  the  horses  from  the  plows, 

And  from  the  cart  the  ox  that  lows. 
And  light  the  lamp  within  the  house: 

The  whippoorwill  is  calling, 

"  Whippoorwill,  whippoorwill," 
Where  the  locust  blooms  are  falling 
On  the  hill! 

The  sunset's  rose  is  dying, 
And  the  whippoorwill  is  crying, 
"  Whippoorwill,  whippoorwill," 

Soft,  now  shrill, 
The  whippoorwill  is  crying 
"  Whippoorwill." 

Madison  J.  Cawein. 

LITTLE  GARAINE 

"  Where  do  the  stars  grow,  little  Garaine? 

The  garden  of  moons  is  it  far  away? 
The  orchard  of  suns,  my  little  Garaine, 

Will  you  take  us  there  some  day?  " 

"  If  you  shut  your  eyes,"  quoth  little  Garaine, 

"  I  will  show  you  the  way  to  go 
To  the  orchard  of  suns  and  the  garden  of  moons 

And  the  field  where  the  stars  do  grow. 

"  But  you  must  speak  soft,"  quoth  little  Garaine, 

"  And  still  must  your  footsteps  be, 
For  a  great  bear  prowls  in  the  field  of  stars, 

And  the  moons  they  have  men  to  see. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  325 

"  And  the  suns  have  the  Children  of  Signs  to  guard, 

And  they  have  no  pity  at  all  — 
You  must  not  stumble,  you  must  not  speak, 

When  you  come  to  the  orchard  wall. 

"  The  gates  are  locked,"  quoth  little  Garaine, 

"  But  the  way  I  am  going  to  tell! 
The  key  of  your  heart  it  will  open  them  all 

And  there's  where  the  darlings  dwell!  " 

Sir  Gilbert  Parker. 

THE  TREE 

I  love  thee  when  thy  swelling  buds  appear, 

And  one  by  one  their  tender  leaves  unfold, 

As  if  they  knew  that  warmer  suns  were  near, 

Nor  longer  sought  to  hide  from  winter's  cold; 

And  when  with  darker  growth  thy  leaves  are  seen 

To  veil  from  view  the  early  robin's  nest, 

I  love  to  lie  beneath  thy  waving  screen, 

With  limbs  by  summer's  heat  and  toil  oppressed; 

And  when  the  autumn  winds  have  stripped  thee  bare, 

And  round  thee  lies  the  smooth,  untrodden  snow, 

When  naught  is  thine  that  made  thee  once  so  fair, 

I  love  to  watch  thy  shadowy  form  below, 

And  through  thy  leafless  arms  to  look  above 

On  stars  that  brighter  beam  when  most  we  need  their  love. 

Jones  Very,  1813-1880. 

A  BRAVE   NEWSPAPER  BOY 

During  the  year  1909,  the  docks  at  Newport,  in  South 
Wales,  were  being  made  much  larger.  In  the  course  of 
the  work  a  long  trench  was  dug,  fifty  feet  deep,  and  over 
thirty  feet  wide. 

As  this  immense  hole  was  being  dug,  care  was  taken 
to  shield  from  danger  the  men  who  were  at  work.  The 
sides  and  ends  were  lined  with  stout  pieces  of  timber, 
and  everything  seemed  safe. 

But  suddenly,  when  the  men  were  about  to  leave  work 
one  evening,  the  sides  of  this  huge  pit  fell  in,  and  between 
thirty  and  forty  men  were  buried  beneath  fallen  earth, 
beams  of  timber,  and  overturned  cranes  and  wagons. 

Willing  hands  were  soon  at  work,  trying  to  release 
the  sufferers.  But  so  huge  was  the  mass  of  earth  and 
timber  which  had  to  be  removed,  that  progress  was  slow. 
The  work,  however,  went  steadily  forward,  and  several 
of  the  injured  men  were  set  free. 


326  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

About  half-past  one  in  the  morning,  the  rescuers  heard 
cries  for  help.  The  voice  came  from  an  enclosed  space 
that  the  timbers  had  formed  in  falling.  It  was  thirty 
feet  down,  and  the  spaces  between  the  beams  were  too 
narrow  for  the  men  to  pass  through. 

They  lowered  some  refreshments;  but  when  the  cord 
was  drawn  up  again,  it  was  seen  that  the  liquids  had 
not  been  touched.  It  was  plain  that  the  poor  sufferer 
was  in  such  a  position  that  he  could  not  use  his  hands. 

An  effort  must  be  made  to  reach  him.  One  man  after 
another  tried  to  work  his  way  down,  but  all  were  too 
stout.  "We  must  have  a  small  man!"  shouted  the 
foreman.  At  once  there  stepped  forward  a  newspaper 
boy  named  Tom  Lewis.  "  Let  me  try,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  not  afraid." 

The  brave  boy's  offer  was  accepted,  and  foot  by  foot 
.he  made  his  way  down  through  the  timbers.  When  he 
got  near  the  bottom,  he  found  that  the  poor  sufferer  was 
held  fast  by  his  hands  and  feet.  Calling  to  the  men 
above,  the  boy  was  quickly  supplied  with  a  saw,  a  ham- 
mer, a  chisel,  and  a  number  of  candles. 

Lighting  the  candles,  he  was  soon  hard  at  work  trying 
to  set  the  poor  man  free.  It  was  a  difficult  task  that 
he  had  undertaken.  He  had  to  work  lying  at  full  length, 
with  his  head  and  hands  below  his  body.  There  might 
be  another  fall  of  earth  at  any  time;  every  moment 
might  be  his  last.  But  the  noble  boy  worked  steadily 
on,  and  after  much  hard  labour  set  free  the  prisoner's 
hands. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  other  half  of  his  task.  But 
ere  he  could  complete  it,  the  men  at  the  top  shouted  to 
him  to  return.  The  sand  above  was  shifting,  and  to 
remain  longer  meant  running  a  great  risk  for  no  purpose. 
Spent  and  weary,  the  brave  lad  made  his  way  to  the 
surface,  and  threw  himself  down,  almost  unable  to  move. 
But  his  labour  had  not  been  in  vain.  With  the  tools 
left  behind,  the  imprisoned  man  was  able  to  free  his 
feet,  and  an  hour  later,  he,  too,  found  his  way  to  the 
top  in  safety. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  327 

Some  months  afterwards,  the  brave  boy  was  sent  for 
by  the  king,  who  with  his  own  hands  pinned  on  the 
young  hero's  breast  the  Albert  Medal.  This  medal,  so 
named  after  the  husband  of  Queen  Victoria,  is  given  for 
brave  deeds  done  elsewhere  than  on  the  field  of  battle. 

Not  only  was  the  young  newspaper  boy  rewarded  by 
the  king,  but  the  firm  of  engineers  who  were  building  the 
docks  took  him  into  their  employ,  to  train  him  as  an 
engineer,  and  we  may  well  believe  that  the  world  has 
not  heard  the  last  of  Tom  Lewis. 

Not  known. 

TO  A  BUTTERFLY 

Oh!  pleasant,  pleasant  were  the  days, 
The  time,  when  in  our  childish  plays, 
My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 
Together  chased  the  butterfly! 
A  very  hunter  did  I  rush 
Upon  the  prey;  with  leaps  and  springs 
I  followed  on  from  brake  to  bush; 
But  she,  God  love  her,  feared  to  brush 
The  dust  from  off  its  wings. 

William  Wordsworth,  1770-1850. 

SCENE  FROM  ALFRED   THE   GREAT 
[Enter  Oddune  and  Oswald,  meeting.] 

Oddune.     No  sign  of  Alfred? 

Oswald.  None!     Our  scouts  have  all 

Returned  disheartened  with  their  fruitless  search. 

Od.     Where  can  he  linger,  with  so  fair  a  welcome 
Impatient  waiting  him,  as  he  would  meet 
From  yonder  gallant  bands?     The  spirits  now 
That  tear  their  crests  on  high,  from  this  delay, 
To  lead  them  on  to  action,  will  anon 
Begin  to  droop  —  perchance,  may  quite  subside. 

Osw.     How  many  do  we  muster? 

Od.  By  the  last 

Return,  six  thousand  men. 

Osw.  The  field  shows  fair! 

Od.     Fair  cause  —  fair  field!     Who'd  e'er  expect  so  soon 
To  see  the  armor  burnished  up  again 
They  cast  aside  for  good!     A  pity  'twere 
What  shows  such  thrift  should  not  be  turned  to  use, 
But,  bootless,  thrown  away!     They  will  not  fight 
Unless  the  king  commands  them! 


328  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Osw.  See,  my  lord! 

What  movement's  that? 

Od.  Here's  one  will  tell  us. 

Edgar  (entering).  Be 

Prepared,  my  lord.     The  soldiers  clamor  for 
The  king,  and  doubts  are  spreading  through  the  ranks; 
You  humor  them  —  he  will  not  come  to  lead  them. 
Their  chiefs  conduct  them  hither,  from  your  own  lips 
Assurance  to  receive,  and  fair  encouragement. 

[Enter  Egbert,  Kenrick,  Arthur,  Chief  and  Soldiers.] 

Eg.     Now,  Kenrick,  speak !     Say  what  the  soldiers  want. 

Od.     Well,  gallant  friends!     Is  England  to  be  free? 
Shall  we  change  places  with  our  conquerors, 
Or  still  endure  the  yoke? 

Ken.  We  want  the  king! 

Let  him  appear,  we  cannot  meet  the  foe 
Too  soon! 

Od.        As  surely  shall  you  see  him,  as 
You  long  to  see  the  foe! 

Ken.  But  when,  my  lord? 

'Tis  that  we'd  know!     When  was  the  king  the  last 
Upon  the  field?     Has  he  not  ever,  on 
The  eve  of  battle,  earlier  than  his  chiefs, 
Been  out  —  with  looks  of  ardor  heartening  us?  — 
Our  morning  sun,  that  never  clouded  rose  — 
Enduing  us  with  life  and  vigor  new! 
At  most  we  muster  bare  six  thousand  men 
To  meet  the  Danish  host!     The  king  among  us 
Would  make  our  numbers  triple!     Show  us  the  king. 
The  only  waving  of  his  plume  in  battle 
Were  worth  a  hundred  spears  in  hands  as  bold 
As  ever  brandished  weapon. 

Od.  What,  and  if 

Indeed  he  should  not  come?     Ought  you  to  feel 
Your  tyrants'  feet  upon  your  necks  the  less? 
Your  king  is  present  in  his  cause!     Be  that 
Your  king !  [Alfred  enters,  still  disguised.] 

Whoever  leads  you,  meet  the  Dane! 
I  speak  not,  friends,  because  I'm  next  in  place! 
I  care  not  for  myself!     Point  out  my  post; 
The  van,  the  rear;   I'll  be  content  to  take 
My  stand  beside  the  man  of  meanest  note 
Among  you!     Make  your  minstrel  without  helm, 
Or  sword  your  leader,  I  will  follow  him ! 
So  that  I  fight,  I  care  not  in  what  rank! 
Let  him  who  makes  the  absence  of  his  king, 
Plea  to  desert  his  country  and  his  king, 
Fall  off!     So  Heaven  sustain  me  in  the  cause, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  329 

Although  our  Alfred's  presence  now  would  add 
Ten  thousand  richer  lives  to  mine;   yet  say 
He  should  not  come,  this  faithful  sword  I  draw," 
I  will  not  sheathe  till  it  has  struck  a  blow 
For  liberty! 

Eg.  I  second  you,  brave  Oddune. 

Osw.     And  so  do  I. 

Od.  And  so  will  every  man, 

Unless  there  be  among  the  people  one 
That  does  not  love  his  king ! 

Ken.  No,  Oddune,  no! 

The  people  live  but  for  their  king! 

Alfred     (discovering  himself),  The  king 

Lives  only  for  his  people!     Oh,  my  people! 
You  are  the  drops  of  blood  that  make  your  king! 
And  do  I  see  you  once  again  in  arms! 

[Bursts  into  teaij.     The  soldiers  also  seem  affected.] 
O,  friends!     Why  draw  your  hands  across  your  eyes, 
If  mine  should  be  ashamed  of  what  they  do? 
We've  met  again,  my  friends!     Who  is  the  foe 
Shall  sunder  us  again?     O  England!     England! 
Too  fair  —  too  richly  gifted  —  not  to  tempt 
The  spoiler  —  well  that  thou  hast  sons,  too  true, 
To  leave  thee  to  his  raven!     Thou'lt  be  free 
Till  thou  art  childless!     Think  not,  gallant  friends, 
An  hour  I've  squandered  that  was  due  to  you 
And  to  our  common  country!     I  have  seen 
The  Danish  camp! 

Od.  Their  camp,  my  liege! 

Alf.  Have  stood 

In  Guthrum's  very  presence!     That  disguise 
Will  tell  thee  how.     They'd  fall  an  easy  prey 
To  half  our  numbers!     Friends!  a  royal  stake 
I've  laid  upon  your  heads,  that  you  will  win 
The  day! 

Od.        What  was't,  my  liege? 

Alf.  Your  prince  and  queen! 

They're  in  the  spoiler's  power.     I  might,  indeed, 
Have  ransomed  them,  but  what  he  asked,  your  king 
Could  not  afford  to  pay.     What  was't,  my  liege? 

Od. 

Alf.     My  people,  Oddune! 

Eg.  In  the  spoiler's  power 

Our  prince  and  queen!     What  wait  we  for? 

Od.  For  nothing, 

But  the  king's  word  to  move  upon  the  foe! 

Alf.     Upon  him,  then!     Now  think  you  on  the  things 
You  most  do  love!     Husbands  and  fathers  on 


330  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Their  wives  and  children  —  lovers  upon  their  mistresses  — 

And  all  upon  their  country! 

O,  now  be  men  or  never!     From  your  hearths 

Thrust  the  unbidden  feet,  that  from  their  nooks 

Your  aged  fathers  drove  —  your  wives  and  babes! 

The  couches  your  fair-handed  daughters  used 

To  spread,  let  not  the  vaunting  stranger  press, 

Weary  from  spoiling  you!     Your  roofs  that  hear 

The  wanton  riot  of  the  intruding  guest 

That  mocks  their  masters  —  clear  them  for  the  sake 

Of  manhood,  to  which  all  that's  precious  clings, 

Else  perishes.     The  land  that  bore  you  —  oh ! 

Do  honor  to  her!     Let  her  glory  in 

Your  breeding!     Rescue  her  I    Revenge  her,  or 

Ne'er  call  her  mother  more!     Come  on,  my  friends! 

And  where  you  take  your  stand  upon  the  field, 

Thence,  howsoever  you  advance,  resolve 

A  foot  you'll  ne'er  recede;  while  from  the  tongues 

Of  womanhood  and  childhood,  helplessness 

Invokes  you  to  be  strong!     Come  on!     Come  on! 

I'll  bring  you  to  the  foe!     And  when  you  meet  him, 

Strike  hard!     Strike  home!     Strike  while  a  blow 

Is  in  an  arm!     Strike  till  you're  free,  or  fall! 

Sheridan  Knowles. 

WHAT  MAY  SATO  TO   DECEMBER 

Old  December  in  his  dotage 

Tottered  down  the  hill  one  day. 
Stopped  at  Widow  Worldly's  cottage  — 

Stopped  to  talk  to  little  May. 
May  was  busy  in  the  dairy, 

Old  December  said,  "  Good  day," 
Thought  she  looked  just  like  a  fairy 

Told  her  not  to  run  away. 
"  Prithee,  dear,  do  you  remember 

What  I  said  last  Christmas  Day?  " 
But  May  laughed  at  old  December, 

Said  she'd  taken  it  in  play: 

Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

Said  she'd  taken  it  in  play, 
Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

Laughed  the  merry  little  May. 

"  Nay,  I  meant  each  word  I  uttered 
That  day  'neath  the  mistletoe." 

"  Do  you  like  your  parsnips  buttered?  " 
Little  May  asked,  laughing  low. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  331 

"  Child,  I  wish  that  for  one  moment 

You  would  try  to  serious  be, 
For  I've  spoken  to  your  mother 

And  she  tells  me  you  are  free. 
But,  my  dear,  you  have  one  lover  —  " 

(Here  he  dropped  on  gouty  knee, 
Nearly  knocked  the  milk-pail  over!) 

"  Do  not  laugh,  dear  —  I  am  he!  " 

Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

"  Do  not  laugh,  dear  —  I  am  he." 
Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

"  Are  you  really —  He!  He!  He!  " 

"  Of  my  wealth  you'll  be  partaker, 

I  can't  spend  it  all  myself, 
Gold  have  I,  and  many  an  acre  —  " 

"  Please,  sir,  put  this  on  the  shelf." 
"  Child,  my  wishes  are  your  mother's, 

She  has  told  me  so  herself, 
She  prefers  me  to  all  others, 

Think  of  her,  you  thoughtless  elf." 
"  That  I  will,"  said  May,  "  for  really 

I  don't  care  for  lands  or  pelf, 
And  as  mother  loves  you  dearly 

She  may  marry  you  herself." 

Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

"  She  may  many  you  herself," 
Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha! 

Mark  Ambient. 

LITTLE   GIFFEN 

Out  of  the  focal  and  foremost  fire, 
Out  of  the  hospital  walls  as  dire, 
Smitten  of  grape-shot  and  gangrene 
(Eighteenth  battle,  and  he  sixteen!), 
Spectre!  such  as  you  seldom  see, 
Little  Giffen  of  Tennessee! 

"  Take  him  and  welcome!  "  the  surgeons  said; 

Little  the  doctor  can  help  the  dead! 

So  we  took  him;   and  brought  him  where 

The  balm  was  sweet  in  the  summer  air; 

And  we  laid  him  down  on  a  wholesome  bed  — 

Utter  Lazarus,  heel  to  head! 

And  we  watched  the  war  with  abated  breath,  — 
Skeleton  Boy  against  skeleton  Death, 


332  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Months  of  torture,  how  many  such? 
Weary  weeks  of  the  stick  and  crutch; 
And  still  a  glint  of  the  steel-blue  eye 
Told  of  a  spirit  that  wouldn't  die. 

And  didn't.     Nay,  more,  in  death's  despite 
The  crippled  skeleton  learned  to  write, 
"  Dear  mother,"  at  first,  of  course,  and  then 
"  Dear  Captain,"  inquiring  about  the  men. 
Captain's  answer:   "  Of  eighty-and-five, 
Giffen  and  I  are  left  alive." 

Word  of  gloom  from  the  war,  one  day; 

Johnston  pressed  at  the  front,  they  say, 

Little  Giffen  was  up  and  away; 

A  tear  —  his  first  —  as  he  bade  good-by, 

Dimmed  the  glint  of  his  steel-blue  eye. 

"  I'll  write,  if  spared!  "     There  was  news  of  the  fight; 

But  none  of  Giffen.     He  did  not  write. 

I  sometimes  fancy,  that,  were  I  king 

Of  the  princely  Knights  of  the  Golden  Ring, 

With  the  song  of  the  minstrel  in  mine  ear, 

And  the  tender  legend  that  trembles  here, 

I'd  give  the  best  on  his  bended  knee, 

The  whitest  soul  of  my  chivalry, 

For  "  Little  Giffen  "  of  Tennessee. 

Francis  O.  Ticlcnor. 

THE  FELLOW  WHO   FIGHTS  ALONE 

The  fellow  who  fights  the  fight  alone, 

With  never  a  word  of  cheer. 
With  never  a  friend  his  help  to  lend, 

With  never  a  comrade  near, 
'Tis  he  has  need  of  a  stalwart  hand 

And  a  heart  not  given  to  moan, 
He  struggles  for  life,  and  more  than  life  — 

The  fellow  who  fights  alone ! 

The  fellow  who  fights  the  fight  alone, 

With  never  a  father's  smile, 
With  never  a  mother's  kindly  tone 

His  sorrowful  hours  to  guile, 
Who  joins  the  fray  at  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  battles  till  light  is  flown, 
Must  needs  be  strong,  for  the  fight  is  long, 

The  fellow  who  fights  alone! 

Ah,  bitter  enough  the  combat  is, 
With  every  help  at  hand, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  333 

With  friends  at  need  to  bid  God-speed, 

With  spirits  that  understand, 
But  fiercer  far  is  the  fight  to  one 

Who  struggles  along  unknown  — 
Ah,  brave  and  grim  is  the  heart  of  him, 

The  fellow  who  fights  alone! 

God  bless  the  fellow  who  fights  alone, 

And  arm  his  soul  with  strength, 
Till  safely  out  of  the  battle  rout 

He  conquering  comes  at  length, 
Till  far  and  near  into  every  ear 

The  fame  of  his  fight  is  blown, 
Till  friend  and  foe  in  the  victor  know 

The  fellow  who  fights  alone! 
By  special  permission  of  the  author.  Denis  A.  McCarthy. 


THE  NORTHERN  SEAS 

Up!  up!  let  us  a  voyage  take; 

Why  sit  we  here  at  ease? 
Find  us  a  vessel  tight  and  snug, 

Bound  for  the  northern  seas. 

I  long  to  see  the  Northern  Lights, 
With   their   rushing   splendors,   fly, 

Like  living  things,  with  flaming  wings, 
Wide   o'er   the   wondrous   sky. 

I  long  to  see  those  icebergs  vast, 

With  heads  all   crowned  with   snow, 

Whose  green  roots  sleep  in  the  awful  deep, 
Two  hundred  fathoms  low. 

I  long  to  hear  the  thundering  crash 

Of  their   terrific   fall; 
And  the  echoes  from  a  thousand  cliffs, 

Like  lonely  voices  call. 

There  we  shall  see  the  fierce  white  bear, 

The  sleepy  seals  aground, 
And  the  spouting  whales  that  to  and  fro 

Sail  with  a  dreary  sound. 

We'll  pass  the  shores  of  solemn  pine, 
Where  wolves  and  black  bears  prowl, 

And  away  to  the  rocky  isles  of  mist 
To  rouse  the  northern  fowl. 


334  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

And  there,  in  the  wastes  of  the  silent  sky, 

With  the  silent  earth  below, 
We  shall  see  far  off  to  his  lonely  rock 

The  lonely  eagle  go. 

Then  softly,  softly  we  will  tread 

By  island  streams,  to  see 
Where  the  pelican  of  the  silent  North 

Sits  there  all  silently. 

Wm.  Howitt. 
THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  MAN 

A  man  caught  an  eagle  in  a  snare.  He  cut  his  wings 
close,  and  kept  him  chained  to  a  stump  in  the  yard.  A 
kind-hearted  fowler  seeing  the  melancholy-looking  bird, 
took  pity  on  him  and  bought  him.  He  was  now  well 
treated  and  his  wings  were  allowed  to  grow.  When 
they  had  grown  again  sufficiently  for  him  to  fly,  the 
fowler  gave  him  his  liberty.  The  first  thing  the  bird 
caught  was  a  fine  hare,  which  he  brought  and  gratefully 
laid  at  the  feet  of  his  benefactor.  A  fox  looking  on, 
said  that  he  would  have  done  better  to  try  to  make 
friends  with  the  first  man  who  had  caught  him,  and 
who  might  perhaps  catch  him  yet  again,  rather  than 
with  the  second,  from  whom  he  had  nothing  to  fear. 
"  Your  advice  will  do  very  well  for  a  fox,"  replied  the 
Eagle;  "but  it  is  my  nature  to  serve  those  who  have 
been  kind  to  me,  and  to  let  those  who  choose,  be  gov- 
erned by  fear." 

THE  CHEERY  CALL 

I  see  you,  on  the  zigzag  rails, 

You  cheery  little  fellow! 
While  purple  leaves  are  whirling  down, 

And  scarlet,  brown,  and  yellow. 
I  hear  you  when  the  air  is  full 

Of  snow -down  of  the  thistle; 
All  in  your  speckled  jacket  trim, 

"  Bob  White!  Bob  White!  "  you  whistle. 

Tall  amber  sheaves,  in  rustling  rows, 

Are  nodding  there  to  greet  you; 
I  know  that  you  are  out  for  play  — 

How  I  should  like  to  meet  you! 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  335 

Though  blithe  of  voice,  so  shy  you  are, 

In  this  delightful  weather; 
What  splendid  playmates  you  and  I, 

"  Bob  White,"  would  make  together! 

There,  you  are  gone!  but  far  away 

I  hear  your  whistle  falling. 
Ah!  may  be  it  is  hide-and-seek, 

And  that's  why  you  are  calling. 
Along  those  hazy  uplands  wide 

We'd  be  such  merry  rangers; 
What!  silent  now,  and  hidden  too! 

"  Bob  White,"  don't  let's  be  strangers. 

Perhaps  you  teach  your  brood  the  game, 

In  yonder  rainbowed  thicket, 
While  winds  are  playing  with  the  leaves, 

And  softly  creaks  the  cricket. 
"  Bob  White!  Bob  White!  "  —  again  I  hear 

That  blithely  whistled  chorus; 
Why  should  we  not  companions  be? 

One  Father  watches  o'er  us! 

George  Cooper. 

IN  TOWN 

Oh,  the  honeyed  breath  of  heather!     Oh,  the  scent  of  gorse  in 

bloom! 

On  the  green  and  sunny  uplands  by  the  sea! 
The  soft  wind  bears  their  fragrance  through  the  city's  heat  and 

gloom, 
And  my  heart  —  my  heart  —  is  aching  to  be  free. 

How  I  long  to  wade  knee-deep  in  the  cool  and  pleasant  grass 

When  the  happy  lark  soars  up  to  greet  the  day, 
And  the  humble  daisies  curtsy  as  caressing  breezes  pass 

O'er  the  fields  about  the  old  home  far  away! 

I  wonder  —  oh!  I  wonder  —  if  the  rose  still  climbs  the  thatch? 

Are  the  window-ledges  gay  with  flowering  musk? 
Does  my  mother  ever  listen,  with  her  hand  upon  the  latch, 

For  a  footstep  coming  homeward  in  the  dusk? 

If  I  might  but  say  good-bye  to  the  clamour  and  the  din! 

If  some  bird  would  lend  me  wings  but  for  an  hour, 
Just  to  reach  that  quaint,  low  doorway  where  the  sunlight  filters  in 

Through  a  screen  of  yellow  jasmine  thick  with  flower! 

Oh,  the  purple  of  the  heather!     Oh,  the  gold  of  gorse  in  bloom 

On  the  bright  and  breezy  uplands  by  the  sea! 
Kind  memory  paints  their  picture  in  this  close  and  narrow  room; 

And  to  think  —  to  think  —  how  far  they  are  from  me! 

E.  Matheson. 


336  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

THE   BELL   OF   ATRI 

At  Atri  in  Abruzzo,  a  small  town 

Of  ancient  Roman  date  but  scant  renown, 

One  of  those  little  places  that  have  run 

Half  up  the  hill,  beneath  a  blazing  sun, 

And  then  sat  down  to  rest,  as  if  to  say, 

"  I  climb  no  farther  upward,  come  what  may,"  — 

The  Re  Giovanni,  now  unknown  to  fame, 

So  many  monarchs  since  have  borne  the  name, 

Had  a  great  bell  hung  in  the  market  place 

Beneath  a  roof,  projecting  some  small  space 

By  way  of  shelter  from  the  sun  and  rain. 

Then  rode  he  through  the  streets  with  all  his  train, 

And,  with  the  blast  of  trumpets  loud  and  long, 

Made  proclamation  that  whenever  wrong 

Was  done  to  any  man  he  should  but  ring 

The  great  bell  in  the  square,  and  he,  the  King, 

Would  cause  the  Syndic  to  decide  thereon. 

Such  was  the  proclamation  of  King  John. 

How  swift  the  happy  days  in  Atri  sped, 

What  wrongs  were  righted,  need  not  here  be  said. 

Suffice  it  that,  as  all  things  must  decay, 

The  hempen  rope  at  length  was  worn  away, 

Unraveled  at  the  end,  and,  strand  by  strand, 

Loosened  and  wasted  in  the  ringer's  hand, 

Till  one  who  noted  this  in  passing  by 

Mended  the  rope  with  braids  of  bryony, 

So  that  the  leaves  and  tendrils  of  the  vine 

Hung  like  a  votive  garland  at  a  shrine. 

By  chance  it  happened  that  in  Atri  dwelt 
A  Knight,  with  spur  on  heel  and  sword  in  belt, 
Who  loved  his  hounds  and  horses  and  all  sports 
And  prodigalities  of  camps  and  courts;  — 
Loved,  or  had  loved  them;  for  at  last,  grown  old, 
His  only  passion  was  the  love  of  gold. 
He  sold  his  horses,  sold  his  hawks  and  hounds, 
Rented  his  vineyards  and  his  garden  grounds, 
Kept  but  one  steed,  his  favorite  steed  of  all, 
To  starve  and  shiver  in  a  naked  stall, 
And  day  by  day  sat  brooding  in  his  chair, 
Devising  plans  how  best  to  hoard  and  spare. 

At  length  he  said:   "  What  is  the  use  or  need 
To  keep  at  my  own  cost  this  lazy  steed, 
Eating  his  head  off  in  my  stables  here, 
When  rents  are  low  and  provender  is  dear? 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  337 

Let  him  go  feed  upon  the  public  ways; 

I  want  him  only  for  the  holidays." 

So  the  old  steed  was  turned  into  the  heat 

Of  the  long,  lonely,  silent,  shadeless  street; 

And  wandered  in  suburban  lanes  forlorn, 

Barked  at  by  dogs,  and  torn  by  brier  and  thorn. 

One  afternoon,  as  in  that  sultry  clime 

It  is  the  custom  in  the  summer  time, 

With  bolted  doors  and  window  shutters  closed, 

The  inhabitants  of  Atri  slept  or  dozed; 

When  suddenly  upon  their  senses  fell 

The  loud  alarum  of  the  accusing  bell! 

The  Syndic  started  from  his  deep  repose, 

Turned  on  his  couch,  and  listened,  and  then  rose 

And  donned  his  robes,  and  with  reluctant  pace 

Went  panting  forth  into  the  market  place, 

Where  the  great  bell  upon  its  crossbeams  swung, 

Reiterating  with  persistent  tongue, 

In  half-articulate  jargon,  the  old  song, 

"  Some  one  hath  done  a  wrong,  hath  done  a  wrong!" 

But  ere  he  reached  the  belfry's  light  arcade 

He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  beneath  its  shade, 

No  shape  of  human  form  of  woman  born, 

But  a  poor  steed  dejected  and  forlorn, 

Who  with  uplifted  head  and  eager  eye 

Was  tugging  at  the  vines  of  bryony.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  from  street  and  lane  a  noisy  crowd 

Had  rolled  together  like  a  summer  cloud, 

And  told  the  story  of  the  wretched  beast 

In  five  and  twenty  different  ways  at  least, 

With  much  gesticulation  and  appeal 

To  heathen  gods,  in  their  excessive  zeal. 

The  Knight  was  called  and  questioned;  in  reply 

Did  not  confess  the  fact,  did  not  deny; 

Treated  the  matter  as  a  pleasant  jest, 

And  set  at  naught  the  Syndic  and  the  rest, 

Maintaining,  in  an  angry  undertone, 

That  he  should  do  what  pleased  him  with  his  own. 

And  thereupon  the  Syndic  gravely  read 

The  proclamation  of  the  King;   then  said: 

"  Pride  goeth  forth  on  horseback  grand  and  gay, 

But  cometh  back  on  foot,  and  begs  its  way; 

Fame  is  the  fragrance  of  heroic  deeds, 

Of  flowers  of  chivalry  and  not  of  weeds! 

These  are  familiar  proverbs;   but  I  fear 

They  never  yet  have  reached  your  knightly  ear. 

What  fair  renown,  what  honor,  what  repute 

Can  come  to  you  from  starving  this  poor  brute? 


338  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  He  who  serves  well  and  speaks  not  merits  more 
Than  they  who  clamor  loudest  at  the  door. 
Therefore  the  law  decrees  that  as  this  steed 
Served  you  in  youth,  henceforth  you  shall  take  heed 
To  comfort  his  old  age,  and  to  provide 
Shelter  in  stall,  and  food  and  field  beside." 

The  Knight  withdrew  abashed;  the  people  all 
Led  home  the  steed  in  triumph  to  his  stall. 
The  King  heard  and  approved,  and  laughed  in  glee, 
And  cried  aloud:   "  Right  well  it  pleaseth  me! 
Church  bells  at  best  but  ring  us  to  the  door, 
But  go  not  in  to  mass;   my  bell  doth  more: 
It  cometh  into  court  and  pleads  the  cause 
Of  creatures  dumb  and  unknown  to  the  laws; 
And  this  shall  make,  in  every  Christian  clime, 
The  Bell  of  Atri  famous  for  all  time." 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  1807-1882. 

I  MAKE  ALL  THINGS   NEW 

Is  this  the  world  of  world-sick  souls 

That  vainly  ask  a  sign? 
See,  emeralds  deck  all  boughs  and  boles, 

And  stars  in  woodlands  shine. 

In  every  bush  there  sings  a  bird. 

Oh,  listen  what  they  sing! 
For  human  language  cannot  word 

The  Apocalypse  of  Spring. 
Prom  "  Sursum  Corda."  F.  W.  Bourdillon. 

THE   FISHER  BOY 

The  Fisher  Boy  lightly  leaps  to  his  boat, 

For  he  loves  the  sea  right  well; 
The  gulls  scream  loud,  but  the  wind  blows  soft, 

And  the  blue  waves  gently  swell. 

The  Fisher  Boy  laughs  as  he  grasps  his  oar, 

And  he  sings  as  he  rows  along; 
For  the  sunset  glows,  and  the  sky  is  clear, 

And  he  knows  that  his  boat  is  strong. 

The  fishing  boats  swiftly  shoot  through  the  bay, 

And  they  steer  for  the  open  sea; 
The  fleet  parts  wide,  and  the  nets  are  cast, 

And  the  stars  blink  hazily. 

The  Fisher  Boy  happily  smiles  as  the  crew 

Haul  aboard  the  glittering  heap, 
And  the  boat  sinks  lower,  and  lower  yet, 

With  the  harvest  of  the  deep. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  339 

The  Fisher  Boy  keenly  marks  in  the  night 

Each  changing  mood  and  sound; 
Now  the  gulls  screech  louder,  and  the  winds  blow  fierce, 

And  the  dark  waves  surge  around. 

But  the  Fisher  Boy  fears  no  danger  then 

On  the  ocean  broad  and  free; 
For  the  boat  is  strong,  and  the  harbour  near, 

And  Fisher  Boy  loves  the  sea. 

THE  HAIRY  WOODPECKER 

Do  you  say  the  birds  are  gone,  the  leaves  have  fallen, 
the  bare  branches  rattle,  rains  have  blackened  the  tree 
trunks?  What  does  the  woodpecker  care?  All  this 
makes  him  rejoice!  The  merry  chickadee  hears  his 
shrill  call  above  the  moaning  of  the  wind  and  the  rat- 
tling of  the  branches.  .  .  . 

If  he  could  speak !  The  children  would  gather  about 
him  for  tales  of  the  wood  sprites;  the  student  of  trees 
would  learn  facts  and  figures  enough  to  store  a  book; 
and  the  mechanic !  Just  watch  the  dexterous  bird  as  he 
works ! 

A  master  of  his  trade,  he  has  various  methods.  One 
day  in  September  he  flew  past  me  with  a  loud  scream, 
and  when  I  came  up  to  him  was  hard  at  excavating. 
His  claws  were  fast  in  the  bark  on  the  edge  of  the  hole 
and  he  seemed  to  be  half  clinging  to  it,  half  lying  against 
it.  His  stiff  tail  quills  helped  to  brace  him  against  the 
tree,  and  he  drilled  straight  down,  making  the  bark  fly 
with  his  rapid  strokes.  When  the  hole  did  not  clear 
itself  with  his  blows,  he  would  give  a  quick  scrape  with 
his  bill  and  drill  away  again.  Suddenly  he  stopped, 
picked  up  something,  and  flew  up  on  a  branch  with  it. 
He  had  found  what  he  was  after.  And  what  a  relish  it 
proved!  I  could  almost  see  him  holding  it  on  his 
tongue. 

Another  day  in  November  he  had  to  work  harder  for 
his  breakfast,  and  perhaps  it  was  fortunate.  .  .  .  The 
snow  that  had  fallen  made  it  rather  cold  standing  still, 
and  I  would  have  been  glad  to  do  part  of  Mr.  Hairy's 
work  myself.  But  he  needed  no  help.  He  marched 


340  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

up  the  side  of  the  stub,  tapping  as  he  went,  and  when 
his  bill  gave  back  the  sound  for  which  he  had  been 
listening,  he  began  work  without  ado.  This  bark  must 
have  been  harder  or  thicker  than  the  other,  for  instead 
of  boring  straight  through,  he  loosened  it  by  drilling, 
first  from  one  side  and  then  from  the  other.  When  he 
could  not  get  it  off  in  this  way,  he  went  above,  and  be- 
low, to  try  to  start  it,  so  that,  before  he  found  his  worm 
he  had  stripped  off  pi?ces  of  bark  several  inches  long 
and  fully  two  across.  He  was  so  engrossed  that  I  came 
to  the  very  foot  of  the  stub  without  disturbing  him. 

Once  I  was  attracted  by  the  cries  of  a  hairy,  and 
creeping  up  discovered  a  mother  feeding  her  half-grown 
baby.  She  flew  off  when  she  saw  me,  probably  warning 
the  little  fellow  to  keep  still,  for  he  stayed  where  she 
left  him  for  five  or  ten  minutes  as  if  pinioned  to  the 
branch,  crouching  close,  and  hardly  daring  to  stir  even 
his  hand.  Then,  as  she  did  not  come  back,  and  he  saw 
no  reason  to  be  afraid  of  me,  he  flew  off  independently 
to  another  limb,  and  marched  up  the  side  arching  his 
neck  and  bowing  his  head  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Just  see 
how  well  I  walk!  " 

From  "Bird*  through  an  Opera  Glass."  Florence  A.  Merriam. 

ROMANCE 
I  saw  a  ship  a-sailing, 

A-sailing  on  the  sea; 
Her  masts  were  of  the  shining  gold, 

Her  deck  of  ivory; 
And  sails  of  silk,  as  soft  as  milk, 

And  silvern  shrouds  had  she. 

And  round  about  her  sailing, 

The  sea  was  sparkling  white, 
The  waves  all  clapped  their  hands  and  sang 

To  see  so  fair  a  sight. 
They  kissed  her  twice,  they  kissed  her  thrice, 

And  murmured  with  delight. 

Then  came  the  gallant  captain, 

And  stood  upon  the  deck; 
In  velvet  coat,  and  ruffles  white, 

Without  a  spot  or  speck; 
And  diamond  rings,  and  triple  strings 

Of  pearls  around  his  neck. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  341 

And  four-and-twenty  sailors 

Were  round  him  bowing  low; 
On  every  jacket  three  times  three 

Gold  buttons  in  a  row; 
And  cutlasses  down  to  their  knees; 

They  made  a  goodly  show. 
And  then  the  ship  went  sailing, 

A-sailing  o'er  the  sea; 
She  dived  beyond  the  setting  sun, 

But  never  back  came  she, 
For  she  found  the  lands  of  the  golden  sands, 

Where  the  pearls  and  diamonds  be. 

Gabriel  Setoun. 

SOME  INTERESTING  LETTERS 

Some  years  ago  a  little  girl  discovered  that  her  birth- 
day, occurring  on  Christmas  Day,  received  no  special 
attention  from  her  friends.  Upon  expressing  regret 
over  this  fact  she  received  word  from  a  friend  that  he 
would  give  her  his  birthday,  which  occurred  in  Novem- 
ber, the  thirteenth  day.  This  friend  was  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  who  wrote  the  book  so  greatly  loved  by 
young  and  old  — "  A  Child's  Garden  of  Verse." 
Stevenson  deeded  to  the  little  girl,  in  the  form  of  a  will, 
his  birthday,  asking  in  return  that  she  add  part  of  his 
name  to  her  own.  At  the  time,  he  was  living  on  an 
island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  He  sent  the  deed  to  her 
but  it  was  many  months  before  he  received  a  reply. 
Her  letter  was  evidently  very  pleasing  to  him.  This  is 
what  he  wrote: 

Vailima,  Samoa,  November,  1891. 

"  My  dear  Louisa,  —  Your  picture  of  the  church,  the 
photograph  of  yourself  and  your  sister,  and  your  very 
witty  and  pleasing  letter,  came  all  in  a  bundle,  and 
made  me  feel  I  had  my  money's  worth  for  that  birthday. 
I  am  now,  I  must  be,  one  of  your  nearest  relatives;  ex- 
actly what  we  are  to  each  other  I  do  not  know.  I 
doubt  if  the  case  has  ever  happened  before  —  your 
papa  ought  to  know,  and  I  don't  believe  he  does;  but  I 
think  I  ought  to  call  you  in  the  meanwhile,  and  until  we 
get  the  advice  of  counsel  learned  in  the  law,  my  name- 
daughter.  Well,  I  was  extremely  pleased  to  see  by  the 
church  that  my  name-daughter  could  draw;  by  the 


342  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

letter,  that  she  was  no  fool;  and  by  the  photograph, 
that  she  was  a  pretty  girl,  which  hurts  nothing.  See 
how  virtues  are  rewarded!  My  first  idea  of  adopting 
you  was  entirely  charitable;  and  here  I  find  that  I  am 
quite  proud  of  it,  and  of  you,  and  that  I  chose  just  the 
kind  of  name-daughter  I  wanted.  For  I  can  draw  too, 
or  rather  I  mean  to  say  I  could  before  I  forgot  how;  and 
I  am  very  far  from  being  a  fool  myself,  however  much 
I  may  look  it;  and  I  am  as  beautiful  as  the  day,  or  at 
least  I  once  hoped  that  perhaps  I  might  be  going  to  be. 
And  so  I  might.  So  that  you  see  we  are  well  met,  and 
peers  on  these  important  points.  I  am  very  glad  also 
that  you  are  older  than  your  sister.  So  should  I  have 
been,  if  I  had  had  one.  So  that  the  number  of  points 
and  virtues  which  you  have  inherited  from  your  name- 
father  is  already  quite  surprising. 

You  are  quite  wrong  as  to  the  effect  of  the  birthday 
on  your  age.  From  the  moment  the  deed  was  registered 
(as  it  was  in  the  public  press  with  every  solemnity)  the 
13th  of  November  became  your  own  and  only  birthday, 
and  you  cease  to  have  been  born  on  Christmas  Day. 
You  are  thus  become  a  month  and  twelve  days  younger 
than  you  were,  but  will  go  on  growing  older  for  the 
future  in  the  regular  and  human  manner,  from  one  13th 
November  to  the  next. 

The  effect  on  me  is  more  doubtful;  I  may,  as  you 
suggest,  live  forever;  I  might,  on  the  other  hand,  come 
to  pieces  like  the  one-horse  shay  at  a  moment's  notice; 
doubtless  the  step  was  risky,  but  I  do  not  the  least  re- 
gret that  which  enables  me  to  sign  myself  your  reverend 
and  delighted  name -father, 

ROBERT   LOUIS   STEVENSON. 


Richard  Henry  Lee  (aged  nine)  to  George  Washington. 

"  Pa  brought  me  two  pretty  books  full  of  pictures 
he  got  them  in  Alexandria  they  have  pictures  of  dogs 
and  cats  and  tigers  and  elefants  and  ever  so  many  pretty 
things  cousin  bids  me  send  you  one  of  them  it  has  a 
picture  of  an  elefant  and  a  little  Indian  boy  on  his  back 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  343 

like  uncle  jo's  sam  pa  says  if  I  learn  my  tasks  good  he 
will  let  uncle  jo  bring  me  to  see  you  will  you  ask  your  ma 
to  let  you  come  to  see  me. 

RICHARD   HENRY   LEE. 

George  Washington's  Reply 

Dear  Dickey: 

I  thank  you  very  much  for  the  pretty  picture  book 
you  gave  me.  Sam  asked  me  to  show  him  the  pictures 
and  I  showed  him  all  the  pictures  in  it;  and  I  read  to 
him  how  the  tame  elephant  took  care  of  the  master's 
little  boy,  and  put  him  on  his  back  and  would  not  let 
anybody  touch  his  master's  little  son.  I  can  read 
three  or  four  pages  sometimes  without  missing  a  word. 
Ma  says  I  may  go  to  see  you,  and  stay  all  day  with  you 
next  week  if  it  be  not  rainy.  She  says  I  may  ride  my 
pony,  Hero  if  Uncle  Ben  will  go  with  me  and  lead  Hero. 
I  have  a  little  piece  of  poetry  about  the  picture  book 
you  gave  me,  but  I  mustn't  tell  you  who  wrote  the 
poetry. 

G.  W's  compliments  to  R.  H.  L., 

And  likes  his  book  full  well 

Henceforth  will  count  him  his  friend, 

And  hopes  many  happy  days  he  may  spend. 
Your  good  friend 

GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

I  am  going  to  get  a  whip  top  soon,  and  you  may  see 
it  and  whip  it. 

TROUBLE  IN  THE  TREES 

The  birds  had  a  meeting,  — 

The  owl  was  the  judge; 
But  a  jay  came  along 

And  said  'twas  all  fudge. 

With  a  quill  in  his  ear 

The  shore-lark  was  clerk; 
The  wren  was  a  witness, 

And  how  she  did  perk! 

The  king-bird  was  sheriff 

And  brought  in  the  shrike, 
When  a  goldfinch  could  scarcely 

Conceal  her  dislike. 


344  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

What  talking  and  squawking, 

What  whetting  of  bills! 
What  ruffling  of  feathers, 

What  bristling  of  quills ! 

Till  a  fox  heard  the  chatter 

And  pounced  on  the  jay 
When  swallows  and  sparrows 

And  all  flew  away! 

Charles  Augustus  Keeler. 

THE   RHODORA 

In  May,  when  sea  winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 

I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 

Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 

To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 

The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 

Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay; 

Here  might  the  redbird  come  his  plumes  to  cool 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 

Rhodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thec  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 

Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 

Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being: 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose ! 

I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew: 

But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 

The  selfsame  Power  that  brought  me  here  brought  you. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  1803-1882. 

TO  AN  INSECT 

I  love  to  hear  thine  earnest  voice, 

Wherever  thou  art  hid, 
Thou  testy  little  dogmatist, 

Thou  pretty  Katydid! 
Thou  mindest  me  of  gentlefolks,  — 

Old  gentlefolks  are  they,  — 
Thou  say'st  an  undisputed  thing 

In  such  a  solemn  way. 

Thou  art  a  female,  Katydid! 

I  know  it  by  the  trill 
That  quivers  through  thy  piercing  notes, 

So  petulant  and  shrill; 
I  think  there  is  a  knot  of  you 

Beneath  the  hollow  tree,  — 
A  knot  of  spinster  Katydids,  — 

Do  Katydids  drink  tea? 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  345 

Oh,  tell  me  where  did  Katy  live, 

And  what  did  Katy  do? 
And  was  she  very  fair  and  young, 

And  yet  so  wicked,  too? 
Did  Katy  love  a  naughty  man, 

Or  kiss  more  cheeks  than  one? 
I  warrant  Katy  did  no  more 

Than  many  a  Kate  has  done. 

Dear  me!     I'll  tell  you  all  about 

My  fuss  with  little  Jane, 
And  Ann,  with  whom  I  used  to  walk 

So  often  down  the  lane, 
And  all  that  tore  their  locks  of  black, 

Or  wet  their  eyes  of  blue,  — 
Pray  tell  me,  sweetest  Katydid, 

What  did  poor  Katy  do? 

Ah,  no!  the  living  oak  shall  crash, 

That  stood  for  ages  still, 
The  rock  shall  rend  its  mossy  base 

And  thunder  down  the  hill, 
Before  the  little  Katydid 

Shall  add  one  word,  to  tell 
The  mystic  story  of  the  maid 

Whose  name  she  knows  so  well. 

Peace  to  the  ever-murmuring  race! 

And  when  the  latest  one 
Shall  fold  in  death  her  feeble  wings 

Beneath  the  autumn  sun, 
Then  shall  she  raise  her  fainting  voice, 

And  lift  her  drooping  lid, 
And  then  the  child  of  future  years 

Shall  hear  what  Katy  did. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  1809-1894. 

THE  RETURN   OF  THE  BIRDS 

I  marked  them  yestermorn, 
A  flock  of  finches  darting 
Beneath  the  crystal  arch, 
Piping,  as  they  flew,  a  march,  — 
Belike  the  one  they  used  in  parting 
Last  year  from  yon  oak  or  larch; 
Dusky  sparrows  in  a  crowd, 
Diving,  darting  northward  free, 
Suddenly  betook  them  all, 
Every  one  to  his  hole  in  the  wall, 
Or  to  his  niche  in  the  apple-tree. 


346  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

I  greet  with  joy  the  choral  trains 

Fresh  from  palms  and  Cuba's  canes. 

Best  gems  of  Nature's  cabinet, 

With  dews  of  tropic  morning  wet, 

Beloved  of  children,  bards  and  Spring, 

O  birds,  your  perfect  virtues  bring, 

Your  song,  your  forms,  your  rhythmic  flight, 

Your  manners  for  the  heart's  delight; 

Nestle  in  hedge,  or  barn,  or  roof, 

Here  weave  your  chamber  weather-proof. 

Forgive  our  harms,  and  condescend 
To  man,  as  to  a  lubber  friend, 
And,  generous,  teach  his  awkward  race 
Courage  and  probity  and  grace! 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  1803-1882. 

THE  THROSTLE 

"  Summer  is  coming,  summer  is  coming, 

I  know  it,  I  know  it,  I  know  it. 
Light  again,  leaf  again,  life  again,  love  again," 
Yes,  my  wild  little  Poet. 

Sing  the  new  year  in  under  the  blue, 

Last  year  you  sang  it  as  gladly. 
"  New,  new,  new,  new!  "  Is  it  then  so  new 

That  you  should  carol  so  madly? 

"  Love  again,  song  again,  nest  again,  young  again," 

Never  a  prophet  so  crazy! 
And  hardly  a  daisy  as  yet,  little  friend, 
See,  there  is  hardly  a  daisy. 

"  Here  again,  here,  here,  here,  happy  year!  " 

O  warble  unchidden,  unbidden! 
Summer  is  coming,  is  coming,  my  dear, 

And  all  the  winters  are  hidden. 

Alfred  Tennyson,  1809-1892. 

WHO  LOVES  THE  TREES  BEST? 

Who  loves  the  trees  best?     "  I,"  said  the  Spring, 
"  Their  leaves  so  beautiful  to  them  I  bring." 
Who  loves  the  trees  best?     "  I,"  Summer  said, 
"  I  give  them  blossoms,  white,  yellow,  red." 
Who  loves  the  trees  best?     "  I,"  said  the  Fall, 
"  I  give  luscious  fruits,  bright  tints  to  all." 
Who  loves  the  trees  best?     "  I  love  them  best," 
Harsh  Winter  answered,  "  I  give  them  rest." 

Alice  May  Douglas. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  347 

THE  MOUNTAINS 

I  saw  the  mountains  stand, 

Silent,  wonderful,  and  grand, 

Looking  out  across  the  land 
When  the  golden  light  was  falling 

On  distant  dome  and  spire. 
And  I  heard  a  low  voice  calling 

"  Come  up  higher,  come  up  higher. 

"  From  the  lowland  and  the  mire, 
From  the  mist  of  earth  desire, 
From  the  vain  pursuit  of  pelf, 
From  the  attitude  of  self, 
Come  up  higher,  come  up  higher. 

"  Think  not  that  we  are  cold, 
Though  eternal  snows  have  crowned  us; 
Underneath  our  breasts  of  snow, 
Silver  fountains  sing  and  flow, 
And  restore  the  hungry  lands.  " 

James  Gowdy  Clark. 

THE  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 

'••  Behold  there  was  a  very  stately  palace  before  him, 
the  name  of  which  was  Beautiful,  and  it  stood  by  the 
highway  side. 

So  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  he  made  haste  and  went 
forward  that,  if  possible,  he  might  get  lodging  there. 
Now  before  he  had  gone  far  he  entered  into  a  very 
narrow  passage,  which  was  about  a  furlong  off  the 
Porter's  lodge;  and  looking  very  narrowly  before  him 
as  he  went,  he  espied  two  lions  in  the  way.  Now, 
thought  he,  I  see  the  danger  that  Mistrust  and  Timorous 
were  driven  back  by.  (The  lions  were  chained,  but  he 
saw  not  the  chains.)  Then  he  was  afraid  and  thought 
nothing  but  death  was  before  him. 

But  the  porter  at  the  lodge,  whose  name  is  Watcnful, 
perceiving  that  Christian  made  a  halt,  as  if  he  would  go 
back,  cried  unto  him,  saying,  "  Is  thy  strength  so  small? 
Fear  not  the  lions,  for  they  are  chained,  and  are  placed 
there  for  trial  of  faith  where  it  is,  and  for  discovery  of 
those  that  have  none.  Keep  in  the  midst  of  the  path, 
and  no  hurt  shall  come  unto  thee." 


348  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Then  I  saw  that  he  went  on  trembling  for  fear  of  the 
lions;  but  taking  good  heed  to  the  directions  of  the 
porter,  he  heard  them  roar,  but  they  did  him  no  harm. 
Then  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  went  on  till  he  came 
and  stood  before  the  gate  where  the  porter  was.  Then 
said  Christian  to  the  porter,  "  Sir,  what  house  is  this? 
And  may  I  lodge  here  to-night?  " 

The  porter  answered,  "This  house  was  built  by  the 
Lord  of  the  hill,  and  he  built  it  for  the  relief  and  security 
of  pilgrims."  This  porter  also  asked  whence  he  was? 
and  whither  he  was  going?  "I  am  come  from  the  city 
of  Destruction,  and  am  going  to  Mount  Zion;  but,  be- 
cause the  sun  is  now  set,  I  desire,  if  I  may,  to  lodge 
here  to-night."  .  .  . 

"Well,"  said  the  porter,  "I  will  call  out  one  of  the 
virgins  of  this  place  who  will,  if  she  like  your  talk, 
bring  you  in  to  the  rest  of  the  family  according  to  the 
rules  of  the  house." 

So  Watchful,  the  porter,  rang  a  bell,  at  the  sound  of 
which  came  out  at  the  door  of  the  house  a  grave  and 
beautiful  damsel,  named  Discretion,  and  asked  why  she 
was  called. 

The  porter  answered,  "  This  man  is  on  a  journey  from 
the  city  of  Destruction  to  Mount  Zion;  but  being 
weary  and  benighted  he  asked  me  if  he  might  lodge 
here  to-night:  so  I  told  him  I  would  call  for  thee,  who, 
after  discourse  had  with  him,  mayest  do  as  seemeth 
thee  good,  even  according  to  the  law  of  the  house." 

Then  she  asked  him  whence  he  was,  and  whither  he 
was  going,  and  he  told  her.  She  asked  him  also  how 
he  got  into  the  way,  and  he  told  her.  Then  she  asked 
him  what  he  had  seen  and  met  with  in  the  way,  and  he 
told  her.  And  at  last  she  asked  his  name.  So  he 
said,  "It  is  Christian:  and  I  have  so  much  the  more  a 
desire  to  lodge  here  to-night,  because,  by  what  I  per- 
ceive, this  place  was  built  by  the  Lord  of  the  hill  for  the 
relief  and  security  of  pilgrims."  So  she  smiled,  but  the 
water  stood  in  her  eyes;  and  after  a  little  pause  she 
said,  "I  will  call  forth  two  or  three  more  of  the  family." 
So  she  ran  to  the  door  and  called  out  Prudence,  Piety, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  349 

and  Charity,  who  after  a  little  more  discourse  with  him, 
led  him  in  to  the  family;  and  many  of  them  meeting 
him  at  the  threshold  of  the  house  said,  "  Come  in,  thou 
blessed  of  the  Lord;  this  house  was  built  by  the  Lord 
of  the  hill  on  purpose  to  entertain  such  pilgrims  in." 

Then  he  bowed  his  head  and  followed  them  into  the 
house.  So  when  he  was  come  in  and  set  down,  they 
gave  him  something  to  drink  and  consented  together 
that,  until  supper  was  ready,  some  of  them  should  have 
some  particular  discourse  with  him  for  the  best  im- 
provement of  time.  .  .  . 

Now  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  thus  they  sat  talking 
together  until  supper  was  ready,  .  .  .  and  till  late  at 
night.  And  after  they  had  committed  themselves  to 
their  Lord  for  protection,  they  betook  themselves  to 
rest.  The  pilgrim  they  laid  in  a  large  upper  chamber, 
whose  window  opened  toward  the  sun  rising:  the  name 
of  the  chamber  was  Peace,  where  he  slept  till  break  of 
day.  .  .  . 

Then  he  began  to  go  forward:  But  Discretion,  Piety, 
Charity,  and  Prudence,  would  accompany  him  down  to 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  .  .  . 

Then  I  saw  in  my  dream,  that  these  good  companions, 
when  Christian  was  gone  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  gave  him  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  a 
cluster  of  raisins ;  and  then  he  went  on  his  way. 

From  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress."  John  Bunyan,  1628-1688. 

AUTUMN'S   MIRTH 

'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
For,  watch  the  rain  among  the  leaves; 
With  silver  fingers  dimly  seen 
It  makes  each  leaf  a  tambourine, 
And  swings  and  leaps  with  elfin  mirth 
To  kiss  the  brow  of  mother  earth ; 
Or,  laughing  'mid  the  trembling  grass, 
It  nods  a  greeting  as  you  pass. 
Oh   hear  the  rain  amid  the  leaves, 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves! 

'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
For,  list  the  wind  among  the  sheaves; 
Far  sweeter  than  the  breath  of  May, 
Or  storied  scents  of  old  Cathay, 


350  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

It  blends  the  perfumes  rare  and  good 
Of  spicy  pine  and  hickory  wood 
And  with  a  voice  in  gayest  chime, 
It  prates  of  rifled  mint  and  thyme. 
Oh!  scent  the  wind  among  the  sheaves, 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves ! 

'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
Behold  the  wondrous  web  she  weaves! 
By  viewless  hands  her  thread  is  spun 
Of  evening  vapors  shyly  won. 
Across  the  grass  from  side  to  side 
A  myriad  unseen  shuttles  glide 
Throughout  the  night,  till  on  the  height 
Aurora  leads  the  laggard  light. 
Behold  the  wondrous  web  she  weaves, 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves. 

Samuel  Minturn  Peck. 

SNOWDROPS 

Little  ladies,  white  and  green, 

With  your  spears  about  you, 
Will  you  tell  us  where  you've  been 

Since  we  lived  without  you? 

You  are  sweet,  and  fresh,  and  clean, 

With  your  pearly  faces; 
In  the  dark  earth  where  you've  been, 

There  are  wondrous  places: 

Yet  you  come  again,  serene, 

When  the  leaves  are  hidden; 
Bringing  joy  from  where  you've  been, 

You  return  unbidden  — 

Little  ladies,  white  and  green, 

Are  you  glad  to  cheer  us? 
Hunger  not  for  where  you've  been, 

Stay  till  Spring  be  near  us! 

Sir  Laurence  Alma-Tadema,  1835-1912. 

SONG   OF  THE   RIVER 

Clear  and  cool,  clear  and  cool, 

By  laughing  shallow,  and  dreaming  pool; 

Cool  and  clear,  cool  and  clear, 

By  shining  shingle,  and  foaming  wear; 

Under  the  crag  where  the  ouzel  sings, 

And  the  ivied  wall  where  the  church-bell  rings, 

Undefiled,  for  the  undented; 

Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  351 

Dank  and  foul,  dank  and  foul, 

By  the  smoky  town  in  its  murky  cowl; 

Foul  and  dank,  foul  and  dank, 

By  wharf  and  sewer  and  slimy  bank; 

Darker  and  darker  the  further  I  go, 

Baser  and  baser  the  richer  I  grow; 

Who  dare  sport  with  the  sin-defiled? 

Shrink  from  me,  turn  from  me,  mother  and  child. 

Strong  and  free,  strong  and  free, 

The  floodgates  are  open,  away  to  the  sea, 

Free  and  strong,  free  and  strong, 

Cleansing  my  streams  as  I  hurry  along 

To  the  golden  sands,  and  the  leaping  bar, 

And  the  taintless  tide  that  awaits  me  afar, 

As  I  lose  myself  in  the  infinite  main, 

Like  a  soul  that  has  sinned  and  is  pardoned  again. 

Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled; 

Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 

Charles  Kingsley,  1819-1875. 

SHEPHERD  BOY'S   SONG 

He  that  is  down,  needs  fear  no  fall; 

He  that  is  low,  no  pride; 
He  that  is  humble,  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

I  am  content  with  what  I  have, 

Little  be  it  or  much; 
And,  Lord,  contentment  still  I  crave, 

Because  Thou  savest  such. 

Fulness  to  such  a  burden  is, 

That  go  on  pilgrimage; 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 

Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

John  Bunyan. 

THE   NORTH  WIND 

Little  Diamond  lived  in  a  low  room  over  a  ^coach- 
house. Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  ought  to  call 
it  a  room  at  all;  for  it  was  just  a  loft  where  they  kept 
hay  and  straw  and  oats  for  the  horses.  There  was  hay 
at  little  Diamond's  feet  and  hay  at  his  head,  piled  up 
in  great  trusses  to  the  very  roof. 

The  back  of  his  bed  was  of  boards  only  an  inch  thick, 
and  on  the  other  side  of  them  was  the  north  wind. 


352  LITTLE    CLASSICS 

Little  Diamond  found  one  night,  after  he  lay  down,  that 
a  knot  had  come  out  of  one  of  them,  and  that  the  wind 
was  blowing  in  upon  him  in  a  cold  and  rather  imperious 
fashion.  Now  he  had  no  fancy  for  leaving  things  wrong 
that  might  be  set  right;  so  he  jumped  out  of  bed  again, 
got  some  hay,  twisted  it  up,  folded  it  in  the  middle,  and 
having  thus  made  it  into  a  stopper,  stuck  it  into  the 
hole  in  the  wall.  But  the  wind  began  to  blow  loudly  and 
angrily,  and,  as  Diamond  was  falling  asleep,  out  blew 
his  stopper  and  hit  him  on  the  nose,  just  hard  enough 
to  wake  him  up  quite,  and  let  him  hear  the  wind  whistling 
shrill  through  the  hole.  He  searched  for  his  hay-stopper, 
found  it,  stuck  it  in  harder,  and  was  just  dropping  off 
once  more,  when,  pop!  with  an  angry  whistle,  it  struck 
him  again,  this  time  on  the  cheek.  He  gave  it  up,  drew 
the  clothes  above  his  head,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

But  the  next  day  his  mother  discovered  the  hole,  and 
pasted  a  bit  of  brown  paper  over  it,  so  that,  when 
Diamond  had  snuggled  down  the  next  night,  he  had  no 
occasion  to  think  of  it. 

Presently,  however,  he  lifted  his  head  and  listened. 
Who  could  that  be  talking  to  him?  The  wind  was  rising 
again,  and  getting  very  loud,  and  full  of  rushes  and 
whistles.  He  was  sure  some  one  was  talking  —  and 
very  near  him  too  it  was.  He  felt  about  with  his  hand, 
and  came  upon  the  piece  of  paper  his  mother  had  pasted 
over  the  hole.  Against  this  he  laid  his  ear,  and  then  he 
heard  the  voice  quite  distinctly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  little  boy  —  closing  up  my 
window?  " 

"  What  window?  "  asked  Diamond.  "  This  isn't  a 
window;  it's  a  hole  in  my  bed." 

"  It's  not  the  bed  I  care  about.  You  just  open  that 
window." 

"Well,  mother  says  I  shouldn't  be  disobliging;  but 
it's  rather  hard.  You  see  the  north  wind  will  blow 
right  in  my  face  if  I  do." 

"  I  am  the  North  Wind." 

"  O-o-oh!  "  said  Diamond,  thoughtfully.     "  Then  will 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  353 

you  promise  not  to  blow  on  my  face  if  I  open  your  win- 
dow? " 

"  I  can't  promise  that." 

"  Well,  I  can  pull  the  clothes  over  my  head,"  said 
Diamond,  and  feeling  with  his  little  sharp  nails,  he  got 
hold  of  the  open  edge  of  the  paper  and  tore  it  off  at  once. 

In  came  a  long  whistling  spear  of  cold,  and  struck  his 
little  naked  chest.  He  scrambled  under  the  bedclothes 
and  covered  himself  up.  Then  the  voice  began  again; 
and  he  could  hear  it  quite  plainly,  even  with  his  head 
under  the  bedclothes.  The  voice  was  still  more  gentle 
now,  although  six  times  as  large  and  loud  as  it  had  been, 
and  he  thought  it  sounded  a  little  like  his  mother's. 

"  Will  you  take  your  head  out  of  the  bedclothes?  " 
said  the  voice. 

"  No!  "  answered  Diamond,  half  peevish,  half  fright- 
ened. 

The  instant  he  said  the  word,  a  tremendous  blast  of 
wind  crashed  in  a  board  of  the  wall,  and  swept  the 
clothes  off  Diamond.  He  started  up  in  terror.  Leaning 
over  him  was  the  large,  beautiful,  pale  face  of  a  woman. 
Her  dark  eyes  looked  a  little  angry,  for  they  had  just 
begun  to  flash;  but  a  quivering  in  her  sweet  upper  lip 
made  her  look  as  if  she  were  going  to  cry.  What  was 
the  most  strange  was  that  away  from  her  head  streamed 
out  her  black  hair  in  every  direction,  so  that  the  dark- 
ness in  the  hayloft  looked  as  if  it  were  made  of  her  hair ; 
but  as  Diamond  gazed  at  her  in  speechless  amazement, 
mingled  with  confidence  —  for  the  boy  was  entranced 
with  her  mighty  beauty  —  her  hair  began  to  gather 
itself  out  of  the  darkness,  and  fell  down  all  about  her 
again,  till  her  face  looked  out  of  the  midst  of  it  like  a 
moon  out  of  a  cloud.  From  her  eyes  came  all  the  light 
by  which  Diamond  saw  her  face  and  her  hair;  and  that 
was  all  he  did  see  of  her  yet.  The  wind  was  over  and 
gone. 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  now,  you  little  Diamond? 
I  am  sorry  I  was  forced  to  be  so  rough  with  you,"  said 
the  lady. 


354  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  I  will;  yes,  I  will,"  answered  Diamond,  holding  out 
both  his  arms.  "  But,"  he  added,  dropping  them,  "  how 
shall  I  get  my  clothes?  They  are  in  mother's  room  and 
the  door  is  locked." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  your  clothes.  You  will  not  be  cold. 
I  shall  take  care  of  that.  Nobody  is  cold  with  the  North 
Wind." 

"  Well,  please,  North  Wind,  you  are  so  beautiful,  I  am 
quite  ready  to  go  with  you." 

"  You  must  not  be  ready  to  go  with  everything  beauti- 
ful all  at  once,  Diamond." 

"  But  what's  beautiful  can't  be  bad.  You're  not  bad, 
North  Wind?  " 

"  No;  I'm  not  bad.  But  sometimes  beautiful  things 
grow  bad  by  doing  bad,  and  it  takes  some  time  for  their 
badness  to  spoil  their  beauty.  So  little  boys  may  be 
mistaken  if  they  go  after  things  because  they  are  beau- 
tiful." 

"  Well,  I  will  go  with  you  because  you  are  beautiful 
and  good  too." 

"Ah,  but  there's  another  thing,  Diamond:  —  What 
if  I  should  look  ugly  without  being  bad  —  look  ugly 
myself  because  I  am  making  ugly  things  beautiful?  — 
What  then?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  North  Wind.  You 
tell  me  what  then." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you.  If  you  see  me  with  my  face  all 
black,  don't  be  frightened.  If  you  see  me  flapping 
wings  like  a  bat's,  as  big  as  the  whole  sky,  don't  be 
frightened.  If  you  hear  me  raging  ten  times  worse 
than  Mrs.  Bill,  the  blacksmith's  wife  —  even  if  you  see 
me  looking  in  at  people's  windows  like  Mrs.  Eve  Dropper, 
the  gardener's  wife  —  you  must  believe  that  I  am  doing 
my  work.  Nay,  Diamond,  if  I  change  into  a  serpent  or 
a  tiger,  you  must  not  let  go  your  hold  of  me,  for  my 
hand  will  never  change  in  yours  if  you  keep  a  good  hold. 
If  you  keep  a  hold,  you  will  know  who  I  am  all  the  time, 
even  when  you  look  at  me  and  can't  see  me  the  least  like 
the  North  Wind.  I  may  look  something  very  awful. 
Do  you  understand?  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  355 

"  Quite  well,"  said  little  Diamond. 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  North  Wind,  and  dis- 
appeared behind  the  mountain  of  hay. 

Diamond  crept  out  of  bed  and  followed  her. 

The  stair  went  close  past  the  loose-box  in  which 
Diamond  the  horse  lived.  When  Diamond  the  boy  was 
halfway  down,  he  remembered  that  it  was  of  no  use  to  go 
this  way  for  the  stable  door  was  locked.  But  at  the 
same  moment  there  was  horse  Diamond's  great  head 
poked  out  of  his  box  on  to  the  ladder,  for  he  knew  boy 
Diamond  although  he  was  in  his  night-gown,  and  wanted 
him  to  pull  his  ears  for  him.  This  Diamond  did  very 
gently  for  a  minute  or  so,  and  patted  and  stroked  his 
neck  too,  and  kissed  the  big  horse,  and  had  begun  to 
take  the  bits  of  straw  and  hay  out  of  his  mane,  when  all 
at  once  he  recollected  that  the  Lady  North  Wind  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  yard. 

"  Good-night,  Diamond,"  he  said,  and  darted  up  the 
ladder,  across  the  loft,  and  down  the  stair  to  the  door. 
But  when  he  got  out  into  the  yard,  there  was  no  lady. 

Now  it  is  always  a  dreadful  thing  to  think  there  is 
somebody  and  find  nobody.  But  it  was  an  especial 
disappointment  to  Diamond,  for  his  little  heart  had 
been  beating  with  joy;  the  face  of  the  North  Wind  was 
so  grand !  To  have  a  lady  like  that  for  a  friend  —  with 
such  long  hair,  too!  Why,  it  was  longer  than  twenty 
Diamonds'  tails!  She  was  gone.  And  there  he  stood, 
with  his  bare  feet  on  the  stones  of  the  paved  yard. 

"  She  shan't  say  it  was  my  fault  anyhow! "  said 
Diamond.  "  I  daresay  she  is  hiding  somewhere  to  see 
what  I  will  do.  I  will  look  for  her." 

He  opened  a  door,  and  went  through  the  shrubbery, 
and  out  into  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  still  hoping  to  find 
North  Wind.  The  soft  grass  was  very  pleasant  to  his 
bare  feet,  and  felt  warm  after  the  stones  of  the  yard; 
but  the  lady  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Then  he  began 
to  think  that  after  all  he  must  have  done  wrong,  and 
she  was  offended  with  him  for  not  following  close  after 
her,  but  staying  to  talk  to  the  horse,  which  certainly 
was  neither  wise  nor  polite. 


356  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

There  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  the  wind 
blowing  his  night-gown  till  it  flapped  like  a  loose  sail. 
The  stars  were  very  shiny  over  his  head;  but  they  did 
not  give  light  enough  to  show  that  the  grass  was  green ; 
and  Diamond  stood  alone  in  the  strange  night,  which 
looked  half  solid  all  about  him.  He  began  to  wonder 
whether  he  was  in  a  dream  or  not.  It  was  important  to 
determine  this;  "  for,"  thought  Diamond,  "  if  I  am  in  a 
dream,  I  am  safe  in  my  bed,  and  I  needn't  cry.  But  if 
I'm  not  in  a  dream,  I'm  out  here,  and  perhaps  I  had 
better  cry,  or,  at  least,  I'm  not  sure  whether  I  can  help 
it."  He  came  to  the  conclusion,  however,  that,  whether 
he  was  in  a  dream  or  not,  there  could  be  no  harm  in  not 
crying  for  a  little  while  longer;  he  could  begin  whenever 
he  liked. 

The  back  of  Mr.  Coleman's  house  was  to  the  lawn 
(Mr.  Coleman  was  the  man  who  owned  old  Diamond), 
and  one  of  the  drawing-room  windows  looked  out  upon 
it.  The  ladies  had  not  gone  to  bed;  for  the  light  was 
still  shining  in  that  window.  But  they  had  no  idea  that 
a  little  boy  was  standing  on  the  lawn  in  his  night-gown, 
or  they  would  have  run  out  in  a  moment. 

All  at  once  the  light  went  nearly  out:  he  could  only 
see  a  glimmer  of  the  shape  of  the  window.  That  was 
more  than  he  could  bear.  He  burst  out  crying  in  good 
earnest,  beginning  with  a  wail  like  that  of  the  wind 
when  it  is  waking  up. 

At  the  very  moment  when  he  burst  out  crying,  the 
old  nurse  of  the  Coleman  family  peered  into  the  night. 
When  she  saw  Diamond,  she  made  a  great  exclamation, 
and  threw  up  her  hands.  Then  without  a  word,  for  she 
thought  Diamond  was  walking  in  his  sleep,  she  caught 
hold  of  him,  and  led  him  towards  the  house.  He  made 
no  objection,  for  he  was  just  in  the  mood  to  be  grateful 
for  notice  of  any  sort,  and  Mrs.  Crump  led  him  straight 
into  the  drawing-room. 

After  their  astonishment  was  over,  and  Miss  Coleman 
had  given  him  a  sponge-cake,  it  was  decreed  that  Mrs. 
Crump  should  take  him  to  his  mother,  and  he  was  quite 
satisfied. 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  357 

His  mother  had  to  get  out  of  bed  to  open  the  door 
when  Mrs.  Crump  knocked.  She  was  indeed  surprised 
to  see  her  boy,  and  when  she  had  taken  him  in  her  arms 
and  carried  him  to  his  bed,  she  returned  to  Mrs.  Crump 
and  they  were  still  talking  when  Diamond  fell  fast  asleep 
and  could  hear  them  no  longer. 

George  Macdonald,  1824-1905. 

VIOLETS 

Under  the  green  hedges  after  the  snow, 
There  do  the  bright  little  violets  grow, 
Hiding  their  modest  and  beautiful  heads 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  soft  mossy  beds. 

Sweet  as  the  roses,  and  blue  as  the  sky, 

Close  to  the  ground  the  violets  lie, 

Hiding  their  heads  among  leaves  thick  and  green, 

Only  by  watchful  eyes  can  they  be  seen. 

J.  Moultrie,  1800-1874. 

THE   STARS 

What  do  the  stars  do 

Up  in  the  sky, 
Higher  than  the  wind  can  blow, 

Or  the  clouds  can  fly? 

Each  star  in  its  own  glory 

Circles,  circles  still; 
As  it  was  lit  to  shine  and  set, 

And  do  its  Maker's  will. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti,  1830-1894. 

THE  PIPER 

Piping  down  the  valleys  wild, 
Piping  songs  of  pleasant  glee, 
On  a  cloud  I  saw  a  child, 
And  he  laughing  said  to  me:  — 

"  Pipe  a  song  about  a  lamb:  " 
So  I  piped  with  merry  cheer. 
"  Piper,  pipe  that  song  again: " 
So  I  piped;  he  wept  to  hear. 

"  Drop  thy  pipe,  thy  happy  pipe, 
Sing  thy  songs  of  happy  cheer: " 
So  I  sung  the  same  again, 
While  he  wept  with  joy  to  hear. 


358  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  Piper,  sit  thee  down  and  write 
In  a  book  that  all  may  read  —  " 
So  he  vanished  from  my  sight; 
And  I  plucked  a  hollow  reed, 

And  I  made  a  rural  pen, 
And  I  stained  the  water  clear, 
And  I  wrote  my  happy  songs 
Every  child  may  joy  to  hear. 

William  Blake. 

APRIL  DAYS 

Dip  down  upon  the  northern  shore, 

0  sweet  new -year  delaying  long; 
Thou  doest  expectant  nature  wrong; 

Delaying  long,  delay  no  more. 

What  stays  thee  from  the  clouded  noons, 
Thy  sweetness  from  its  proper  place? 
Can  trouble  live  with  April  days, 

Or  sadness  in  the  summer  moons? 

Bring  orchis,  bring  the  foxglove  spire, 

The  little  speedwell's  darling  blue, 

Deep  tulips  dash'd  with  fiery  dew, 
Laburnums,  dropping-wells  of  fire. 

O  thou,  new-year,  delaying  long, 

Delayest  the  sorrow  in  my  blood, 

That  longs  to  burst  a  frozen  bud. 
And  flood  a  fresher  throat  with  song. 
From  "  In  Memoriam."  Alfred  Tennyson. 

UNDER  A  PINE-TREE 

Beneath  the  swaying  pine-tree, 
That  the  fitful  wind  goes  through, 

1  gaze  on  the  widening  landscape, 
That  fades  in  far-off  blue. 

And  like  low  music  playing 

Above  in  the  organ-loft, 
The  wind  in  the  pine-tree  moving 

Makes  music  strange  and  soft. 

Soft  is  the  voice,  but  solemn; 

And  with  a  dream-like  power 
It  sways  all  thoughts  and  fancies, 

And  hallows  the  brief  hour. 

i 

For  the  trees  have  all  their  voices 
Of  light  or  earnest  tone; 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  359 

The  aspen  —  elfin  laughter, 
The  oak  —  a  Titan's  moan. 

But  the  pines  have  caught  the  message 
Which  the  wind  bears  from  the  sea; 

And  its  voice  is  the  voice  of  ocean, 

And  its  talk  of  Eternity. 
From  "  Sursum  Corda."  F.  W.  Bourdillon 

WHAT   ROBIN   TOLD 

How  do  the  robins  build  their  nest? 

Robin  Redbreast  told  me. 
First  a  wisp  of  amber  hay 
In  a  pretty  round  they  lay; 
Then  some  shreds  of  downy  floss, 
Feathers  too,  and  bits  of  moss, 
Woven  with  a  sweet,  sweet  song, 
This  way,  that  way,  and  across: 

That's  what  Robin  told  me. 

Where  do  the  robins  hide  their  nest? 

Robin  Redbreast  told  me. 
Up  among  the  leaves  so  deep, 
Where  the  sunbeams  rarely  creep. 
Long  before  the  winds  are  cold, 
Long  before  the  leaves  are  gold, 
Bright-eyed  stars  will  peep  and  see 
Baby  robins  one,  two,  three: 

That's  what  Robin  told  me. 

George  Cooper. 

THE  THREE  MINSTRELS 

Once  in  the  olden  time  a  king  called  his  heralds  to- 
gether, and  sent  them  forth  into  every  part  of  the  king- 
dom to  sound  their  trumpets  and  to  call  aloud:  — 

"Hear,  O  ye  minstrels!  Our  gracious  king  bids  ye 
come  to  his  court  and  play  before  the  queen." 

The  minstrels  were  men  who  went  about  the  country 
singing  beautiful  songs  and  playing  on  harps. 

They  sang  of  the  brave  deeds  that  the  knights  had 
done,  of  wars  and  of  battles.  They  sang  of  the  mighty 
hunters  that  hunted  in  the  great  forests.  They  sang  of 
fairies  and  goblins,  of  giants  and  elves. 

When  the  minstrels  heard  the  king's  message,  they 
made  haste  to  the  palace;  and  it  so  happened  that  three 
of  them  met  on  the  way  and  decided  to  travel  together. 


360  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

One  of  these  minstrels  was  a  young  man  named 
Harmonius;  and  while  the  others  talked  of  the  songs 
that  they  would  sing,  he  gathered  the  wild  flowers  that 
grew  by  the  roadside. 

"  I  can  sing  of  drums  and  battles,"  said  the  oldest 
minstrel,  whose  hair  was  white,  and  whose  step  was  slow. 

"  I  can  sing  of  ladies  and  their  fair  faces,"  said  the 
youngest  minstrel.  But  Harmonius  whispered,  "  Listen! 
listen!  " 

"  Oh!  we  hear  nothing  but  the  wind  in  the  tree  tops," 
said  the  others.  "  We  have  not  time  to  stop  and  listen." 

Then  they  hurried  on  and  left  Harmonius;  and  he 
stood  under  the  trees  and  listened,  for  he  heard  the  wind 
singing  of  its  travels  through  the  wide  world.  It  was 
telling  how  it  raced  over  the  blue  sea,  tossing  the  waves 
and  rocking  the  white  ships.  It  sang  of  the  hill  where 
the  trees  made  harps  of  their  branches,  and  of  the  valleys 
where  all  the  flowers  danced  gayly  to  its  music.  And 
this  was  the  chorus  of  the  song:  — 

"  Nobody  follows  me  where  I  go, 
Over  the  mountains  or  valley  below; 
Nobody  sees  where  the  wild  winds  blow,  — 
Only  the  Father  in  Heaven  can  know." 

Harmonius  listened  until  he  knew  the  whole  song. 
Then  he  ran  on,  and  soon  reached  his  friends,  who  were 
still  talking  of  the  grand  sights  that  they  were  to  see. 

Now  their  path  led  them  through  the  wood,  and  as 
they  talked,  Harmonius  said,  "  Hush!  listen!  " 

But  the  others  answered:  "  Oh!  that  is  only  the  sound 
of  the  brook,  trickling  over  the  stones.  Let  us  make 
haste  to  the  king's  court." 

But  Harmonius  stayed  to  hear  the  song  that  the  brook 
was  singing,  of  journeying  through  mosses  and  ferns  and 
shady  ways,  and  of  tumbling  over  the  rocks  in  shining 
waterfalls,  on  its  way  to  the  sea. 

"  Rippling  and  bubbling  through  shade  and  sun 
On  to  the  beautiful  sea  I  run; 
Singing  forever,  though  none  be  near,  — 
For  God  in  Heaven  can  always  hear." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  361 

Harmonius  listened  until  he  knew  every  word,  and 
then  he  hurried  on. 

When  he  reached  the  others,  he  found  them  still  talk- 
ing; but  again  he  heard  something  wonderfully  sweet, 
and  he  cried,  "  Listen!  listen!  " 

"  Oh!  that  is  only  a  bird,"  the  others  replied.  "  Let 
us  make  haste  to  the  king's  court." 

But  Harmonius  would  not  go,  for  the  bird  sang  so 
joyfully  that  Harmonius  laughed  aloud  when  he  heard 
the  song.  It  was  singing  a  song  of  green  trees;  and  in 
every  tree  there  was  a  nest,  and  in  every  nest  there 
were  eggs. 

"  Merrily,  merrily,  listen  to  me 
Flitting  and  flying  from  tree  to  tree; 
Nothing  fear  I,  by  land  or  sea,  — 
For  God  in  Heaven  is  watching  me." 

"  Thank  you,  little  bird,"  said  Harmonius;  "  you 
have  taught  me  a  song."  And  he  made  haste  to  join 
his  comrades. 

When  they  had  come  into  the  palace,  they  received 
a  hearty  welcome,  and  were  feasted  in  the  great  hall 
before  they  came  into  the  throne  room. 

The  king  and  queen  sat  on  their  thrones  side  by  side. 
The  king  thought  of  the  queen  and  the  minstrels;  but 
the  queen  thought  of  her  old  home  in  a  far-off  country, 
and  of  the  butterflies  she  had  chased  when  she  was  a 
little  child. 

One  by  one  the  minstrels  played  before  them. 

The  oldest  minstrel  sang  of  battles  and  drums,  and 
the  soldiers  of  the  king  shouted  with  joy.  The  youngest 
minstrel  sang  of  ladies  and  their  fair  faces,  and  all  the 
ladies  of  the  court  clapped  their  hands. 

Then  came  Harmonius.  And  when  he  touched  his 
harp  and  sang,  the  song  sounded  like  the  wind  blowing, 
the  sea  roaring,  and  the  trees  creaking.  Then  it  grew 
very  soft,  and  sounded  like  a  trickling  brook,  dripping 
on  stones  and  running  over  little  pebbles.  And  while 
the  king  and  queen  and  all  the  court  listened  in  surprise, 
Harmonius's  song  grew  sweeter,  sweeter,  sweeter.  It 
was  as  if  you  heard  all  the  birds  in  spring. 


362  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

When  the  song  was  ended,  the  queen  clapped  her 
hands,  and  the  king  came  down  from  his  throne  to  ask 
Harmonius  if  he  came  from  fairyland  with  such  a  won- 
derful song.  But  Harmonius  answered :  — 

"  Three  singers  sang  along  our  way, 

And  I  learned  the  song  from  them  to-day." 

And  the  oldest  minstrel  said  to  the  king:  "  Harmonius 
is  surely  mad!  We  met  no  singers  on  our  way  to-day." 

But  the  queen  said:  "  That  is  an  old,  old  song.  I 
heard  it  when  I  was  a  little  child,  and  I  can  name  the 

Singers  three."  Maude  Lindsay. 

THE   OWL 

When  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 

And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground, 
And  the  far -off  stream  is  dumb, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round; 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

When  merry  milkmaids  click  the  latch, 
And  rarely  smells  the  new-mown  hay, 
And  the  cock  hath  sung  beneath  the  thatch 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay; 
Twice  or  thrice  his  roundelay; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

Alfred  Tennyson,  1809-1892. 

IDA  AND   MRS.   OVERTHEWAY 

Ida  knew  her  very  well  by  sight,  but  she  did  not 
know  her  name,  so  she  made  up  a  name  for  the  little  old 
lady,  and  called  her  Mrs.  Overtheway. 

Little  Ida's  history  was  a  sad  one.  Her  troubles  be- 
gan when  she  was  but  a  year  old,  with  the  greatest  of 
earthly  losses  —  for  then  her  mother  died,  leaving  a 
sailor  husband  and  their  infant  child.  The  sea-captain 
could  face  danger,  but  not  an  empty  home;  so  he  went 
back  to  the  winds  and  the  waves,  leaving  his  little 
daughter  with  relatives.  Six  long  years  had  he  been 
away,  and  Ida  had  had  many  homes,  and  yet,  somehow, 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  363 

no  home,  when  one  day  the  postman  brought  her  a 
large  letter,  with  her  own  name  written  upon  it  in  a 
large  hand.  This  was  no  make-believe  epistle  to  be  put 
into  the  post  through  the  nursery  door;  it  was  a  real 
letter,  with  a  red  seal,  real  stamps,  and  a  great  many 
post-marks;  and  when  Ida  opened  it  there  were  two 
sheets  written  by  the  Captain's  very  own  hand,  in  round 
fat  characters,  easy  to  read,  with  a  sketch  of  the  Cap- 
tain's very  own  ship  at  the  top,  and  —  most  welcome 
above  all !  —  the  news  that  the  Captain's  very  own  self 
was  coming  home. 

"  I  shall  have  a  papa  all  to  myself  very  soon,  Nurse," 
said  Ida.  "  He  has  written  a  letter  to  me,  and  made 
me  a  picture  of  his  ship;  it  is  the  Bonne  Esperance, 
which  he  says  means  Good  Hope.  I  love  this  letter 
better  than  anything  he  has  ever  sent  me." 

Nevertheless,  Ida  took  out  the  carved  fans  and  work- 
boxes,  the  beads,  and  handkerchiefs,  and  feathers,  the 
dainty  foreign  treasures  the  sailor-father  had  sent  to 
her  from  time  to  time;  dusted  them,  kissed  them,  and 
told  them  that  the  Captain  was  coming  home.  But 
the  letter  she  wore  in  her  pocket  by  day,  and  kept 
under  her  pillow  by  night. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  your  letter  into  one  of  your 
boxes,  like  a  tidy  young  lady,  Miss  Ida?"  said  Nurse. 
"  You'll  wear  it  to  bits  doing  as  you  do." 

"  It  will  last  till  the  ship  comes  home,"  said  Miss  Ida. 

It  had  need  then  to  have  been  written  on  the  rock, 
graven  with  an  iron  pen  for  ever;  for  the  Bonne  Es- 
perance had  perished  to  return  no  more.  She  foundered 
on  her  homeward  voyage,  and  went  down  into  the  great 
waters,  whilst  Ida  slept  through  the  stormy  night,  with 
the  Captain's  letter  beneath  her  pillow.  .  .  . 

Summer  passed,  and  winter  came  on.  The  little  old 
lady  had  no  longer  a  flower  to  take  to  church  with  her. 
The  change  went  to  Ida's  heart.  At  last  there  came  a 
real  spring  day,  and  all  the  snow  was  gone. 

"  You  may  go  and  play  in  the  garden,  Miss  Ida,"  said 
Nurse,  and  Ida  went. 

All  at  once  some  children  scampered  past  the  hedge, 


364  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

and  lo!  tightly  held  in  the  hands  of  each  were  primroses. 
Ida  started  to  her  feet,  a  sudden  idea  filling  her  brain. 
The  birds  were  right.  Spring  had  come,  and  there  were 
flowers  for  Mrs.  Overtheway. 

Ida  went  into  the  wood,  looking  about  her  as  she  ran. 
Presently  the  wood  sloped  downwards,  and  pretty 
steeply,  so  that  it  was  somewhat  of  a  scramble.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  hill  ran  a  little  brook,  and  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  brook  was  a  bank,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
bank  was  a  hedge,  and  under  the  hedge  were  the  prim- 
roses. She  scrambled  over  the  stones,  and  made  up  a 
charming  bunch  of  primroses.  Ida  trembled  with  ex- 
citement when  she  stood  at  last  before  Mrs.  Overtheway's 
green  gate.  Click!  she  went  up  the  white  steps  and 
gave  a  valiant  rap.  The  door  was  opened,  and  a  tall, 
rather  severe-looking  housekeeper  asked:  "  What  do 
you  want,  my  dear?  " 

"  These  primroses,"  said  Ida,  who  was  almost  choking. 
"  They  are  for  Mrs.  Overtheway  to  take  to  church  with 
her.  I  am  very  sorry  if  you  please,  but  I  don't  know 
her  name,  and  I  call  her  Mrs.  Overtheway  because,  you 
know,  she  lives  over  the  way.  At  least  —  "  Ida  added, 
looking  back  across  the  road  with  a  sudden  confusion 
in  her  ideas,  "at  least  —  I  mean  —  you  know  —  we  live 
over  the  way."  And  overwhelmed  with  shame  at  her 
own  stupidity,  Ida  stuffed  the  flowers  into  the  woman's 
hand,  and  ran  home  as  if  a  lion  were  at  her  heels. 

A  few  days  after  this  something  wonderful  happened. 
It  was  twilight,  and  Ida  sat  by  the  fire.  If  only  there 
were  some  one  to  tell  her  a  story,  she  thought. 

It  grew  dark,  and  then  steps  came  outside  the  door, 
and  a  fumbling  with  the  lock  which  made  her  nervous. 

"  Do  come  in,  Nursey!  "  she  cried. 

The  door  opened,  and  some  one  spoke;  but  the  voice 
was  not  the  voice  of  Nurse.  It  was  a  sweet,  clear,  gentle 
voice;  musical,  though  no  longer  young;  such  a  voice 
as  one  seldom  hears  and  never  forgets,  which  came  out 
of  the  darkness,  saying: 

"  It  is  not  Nurse,  my  dear;  she  is  making  tea,  and  gave 
me  leave  to  come  up  alone.  I  am  Mrs.  Overtheway." 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  365 

And  there  in  the  firelight  stood  the  little  old  lady,  as  she 
has  been  before  described,  except  that  she  carried  a 
large  pot  hyacinth  in  her  two  hands. 

"  I  have  brought  you  one  of  my  pets,  my  dear,"  said 
she.  "I  think  we  both  love  flowers."  .  .  . 

One  morning,  soon  after,  the  little  old  lady  went  to 
church  as  usual,  and  Ida  was  at  the  window  when  she 
returned.  When  the  child  had  seen  her  old  friend  into 
the  house  she  still  kept  her  place,  for  the  postman  was 
coming  down  the  street,  and  it  was  amusing  to  watch 
him  from  door  to  door,  and  to  see  how  large  a  bundle 
of  letters  he  delivered  at  each.  At  Mrs.  Overtheway's 
he  delivered  one,  a  big  one,  and  an  odd  curiosity  about 
this  letter  took  possession  of  Ida.  She  wished  she  knew 
what  it  was  about,  and  from  whom  it  came.  She  was 
still  at  the  window  when  the  door  of  the  opposite  house 
was  opened,  and  the  little  old  lady  came  hurriedly  out, 
with  the  letter  in  her  hand.  She  crossed  the  street. 
Then  the  bell  rang,  and  she  entered,  but  stayed  below 
talking  with  some  one.  At  last  she  came  upstairs. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  my  dear." 

"  A  story?  "  Ida  asked.  "  Oh,  thank  you,  if  it  is  a 
story." 

The  old  lady  was  silent,  but  at  last  she  said,  as  if  to 
herself  — 

"  Perhaps  best  so,"  and  added:  "  Yes,  my  love,  I  will 
tell  you  a  story." 

"  Let  it  be  about  a  home,  please;  if  you  can,"  said 
Ida. 

"  A  home!  "  said  the  old  lady,  "  A  home!  I  must  begin 
with  a  far-away  one,  a  strange  one,  on  the  summit  of 
high  cliffs,  the  home  of  fearless,  powerful  creatures, 
white  winged  like  angels." 

"  It's  a  fairy  tale,"  said  Ida. 

"  No,  my  child,  it  is  true." 

"  It  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale,"  Ida  said. 

"  It  shall  be  if  you  like,"  said  the  old  lady,  after  a 
pause,  "  but,  as  I  said,  the  main  incidents  are  true." 

"  And  the  white-winged  creatures? "  Ida  asked. 
"  Were  they  fairies?  " 


366  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

"  No,  my  love;  birds,  snowy  albatrosses  with  their 
huge  white  wings  wheeling  about  a  vessel  in  mid  ocean. 
Fairyland  could  hardly  show  anything  more  beautiful 
and  impressive." 

"  Do  they  fly  near  ships  then?  "  Ida  asked.  "  I  wish 
I  could  talk  to  the  birds  that  saw  Papa's  ship  go  down, 
if  there  were  any,  and  ask  them  how  it  was,  and  if  he 
minded  it  much,  and  if  he  remembered  me." 

The  little  old  lady  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"  And  now  the  story,  please,"  said  Ida,  after  a  pause. 

And  Mrs.  Overtheway  began  the  following  story. 

"  Father  Albatross  had  been  out  all  day,  and  was 
come  home  to  his  island  where  his  wife  was  hatching 
an  egg.  There  was  only  one  egg,  but  parental  affection 
is  not  influenced  by  numbers,  and  Mother  Albatross 
was  as  proud  as  if  she  had  been  a  hen  sitting  on  a  dozen. 

"  The  Father  Albatross  was  very  considerate.  He 
generally  contrived  to  bring  back  some  bits  of  news  for 
her  amusement.  Their  island  home  lay  far  out  of  the 
common  track  of  ships,  but  sometimes  he  sighted  a 
distant  vessel.  When  there  was  no  news  he  discussed 
the  winds  and  waves,  as  we  talk  of  the  weather  and  the 
crops. 

"  Bits  of  news,  like  misfortunes,  are  apt  to  come  to- 
gether. The  very  day  on  which  the  egg  hatched,  Father 
Albatross  returned  from  his  morning  flight  so  full  of 
what  he  had  seen,  that  he  hardly  paid  any  attention  to 
his  mate's  announcement  of  the  addition  to  his  family. 

"  '  Could  you  leave  the  nest  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
my  dear?  '  he  asked. 

"  '  Certainly  not,'  said  Mother  Albatross;  '  as  I  have 
told  you,  the  egg  is  hatched  at  last. ' 

"  '  There  is  a  ship  within  a  mere  wing-stretch,  untold 
miles  out  of  her  course,  and  going  down.  I  came  away 
just  as  she  was  sinking,  that  you  might  have  a  chance  of 
seeing  her.' 

"  '  Could  none  of  the  men  fly  away?  '  the  Mother 
Albatross  asked. 

"  '  No  men  have  wings,'  replied  her  mate,  '  nor,  for 
that  matter,  fins  or  scales  either.' 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  367 

"  '  Were  there  many  on  the  ship  you  saw?  '  the  mother 
bird  asked. 

"  '  More  than  one  likes  to  see  drowned  in  a  batch,' 
said  Father  Albatross;  '  and  I  feel  most  sorry  for  the 
captain.  He  was  a  fine  fellow,  with  bright  eyes  and 
dark  curly  plumage,  and  would  have  been  a  handsome 
creature  if  he  had  had  wings.' 

"  '  Have  men  no  contrivance  for  escaping  on  these 
occasions?  '  the  mother  bird  inquired. 

"  '  They  have  boats,  into  which  they  go  when  the 
ship  will  hold  them  no  longer.  I  saw  one  lowered,  and 
quickly  filled  with  men,  eager  to  snatch  this  last  chance 
of  life.' 

"  '  Was  the  captain  in  it?  ' 

"  '  No.  He  stayed  on  the  ship  and  gave  orders.  The 
dog  stayed  with  him.' 

"  '  I  cannot  help  grieving  for  the  captain,'  said  Mother 
Albatross.  '  I  hope  you  will  fly  in  that  direction  to- 
morrow, and  bring  me  word  whether  there  are  any 
traces  of  the  catastrophe.' 

"  The  following  morning  Father  Albatross  set  forth 
as  he  was  desired.  He  returned  even  sooner  than  the 
Mother  Albatross  had  hoped,  and  descended  to  the  side 
of  their  nest  with  as  much  agitation  as  his  majestic  form 
was  capable  of  displaying. 

"  '  Wonders  will  never  cease! '  he  exclaimed. 

"  '  The  captain  and  one  or  two  men  more  are  here, 
on  the  island.  You  will  be  able  to  see  him  for  yourself, 
and  to  show  the  youngster  what  men  are  like  into  the 
bargain.  It's  very  strange  how  they  have  escaped ;  and 
that  lazy,  self-sufficient  dog  is  with  them.  A  lucky 
wave  has  brought  them  to  shore,  but  it  will  take  a 
good  many  lucky  waves  to  bring  a  ship  to  carry  them 
home.' 

"  Father  Albatross  was  right;  but  his  mate  saw  the 
strangers  sooner  than  she  expected.  Her  nest,  though 
built  on  the  ground,  was  on  the  highest  point  of  the 
island,  and  to  this  the  shipwrecked  men  soon  made  their 
way;  and  there  the  Mother  Albatross  had  ample  chance 
of  seeing  the  bright  eyes  of  the  captain  as  they  scanned 


368  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

the  horizon  with  keen  anxiety.  Presently  they  fell 
upon  the  bird  herself. 

"  '  What  splendid  creatures  they  are!  '  he  said  to  his 
companion;  '  and  so  grandly  fearless.  I  was  never  on 
one  of  these  islands  where  they  breed  before.  What  a 
pity  it  is  that  they  cannot  understand  one?  That  fellow 
there,  who  is  just  stretching  his  noble  wings,  might  take 
a  message  and  bring  us  help.' 

"  '  He  is  a  fine  creature,'  said  the  Mother  Albatross, 
peeping  at  the  captain  from  her  nest;  *  that  is,  he  would 
be  if  he  had  wings,  and  could  speak  properly.' 

"  '  What  is  he  doing  now?  '  she  asked  on  one  occasion, 
when  the  captain  was  reading  a  paper  which  he  had  taken 
from  the  note-book  in  his  pocket. 

"  '  That  is  a  letter,'  said  the  Father  Albatross.  'And 
from  the  look  of  it  I  gather  that,  like  ourselves,  he  has 
got  a  young  one  somewhere,  wherever  his  nest  may  be.' 

"  '  How  do  you  gather  that?  '  his  mate  inquired. 

"  '  Because  the  writing  is  so  large,'  answered  the  Father 
Albatross.  '  It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  these 
creatures  that  the  smaller  they  are  the  larger  they  write. 
That  letter  is  from  a  young  one;  probably  his  own.' 

"  *  Very  remarkable  indeed,'  said  the  Mother  Alba- 
tross. *  And  what  is  he  doing  now?  ' 

"  '  Now  he  is  writing  himself,'  said  her  mate;  '  and 
if  you  will  observe  you  will  see  my  statement  con- 
firmed. See  how  much  smaller  he  writes! ' 

"  The  captain  had  indeed  torn  a  sheet  from  his  note- 
book, and  was  busy  scribbling  upon  his  knees.  Carlo 
began  to  wag  his  tail,  and  he  wagged  it  without  pause  or 
weariness  till  the  captain  had  finished.  Once  he  sat 
up  on  his  haunches  and  put  his  nose  on  the  letter. 

"  '  That  is  right,  old  fellow,  kiss  it,'  said  the  captain. 
'  I  am  just  telling  her  about  you.  Heaven  send  she 
may  ever  read  it,  poor  child ! ' 

"And  now  days  became  weeks,  and  weeks  ripened 
into  months.  The  men's  appearance  changed,  and  their 
clothes  began  to  look  shabby  and  to  hang  loosely  and 
untidily  upon  their  gaunt  frames.  The  captain's  eyes 
looked  larger  and  sadder,  and  his  voice  grew  hollow  at 


FOR    ORAL    ENGLISH  369 

sunset,  and  threads  of  white  began  to  show  among  his 
dark  curls,  and  increased  in  number  day  by  day. 

"  '  Are  the  men  going  to  change  their  feathers,  do  you 
think?  '  the  Mother  Albatross  inquired  of  her  mate. 
'  They  have  a  most  wretched  appearance.  Only  the 
dog  looks  like  himself.' 

"  '  I  detest  that  dog,'  said  Father  Albatross.  '  His 
idleness  and  arrogance  make  me  quite  sick.  I  think  I 
want  exercise,  too,  and  I  mean  to  have  a  good  flight 
today,'  and,  spreading  his  broad  wings,  the  bird  sailed 
away.  When  he  returned,  he  settled  down  by  the 
captain,  who  was  sitting  listlessly,  as  usual,  with  Carlo 
at  his  feet. 

"  '  If  you  would  only  exert  yourself,'  began  Father 
Albatross, '  something  might  come  of  it.  You  are  getting 
as  bad  as  the  dog.  Spread  out  those  arms  of  yours,  and 
see  what  you  can  do  with  them ! ' 

"  '  What  can  be  the  matter  with  the  birds  today?  ' 
said  the  captain,  who  was  in  rather  an  irritable  mood 
himself.  '  They  are  silent  enough  generally  '  —  for  the 
voice  of  the  albatross  is  rarely  heard  at  sea. 

"  '  Move  your  arms,  I  tell  you! '  croaked  the  albatross. 
'  Up  and  down  —  so!  —  and  follow  me.' 

"  '  He  doesn't  understand  you,'  said  the  Mother 
Albatross.  '  Couldn't  you  take  a  message  to  the  ship 
yourself?  It  is  nothing  to  your  magnificent  wings,  and 
it  is  not  his  fault,  poor  creature,  that  he  is  not  formed 
like  you.' 

"  '  You  speak  very  sensibly,  my  dear,'  said  Father 
Albatross;  and  once  more  he  took  flight  over  the  sea. 

"  But  he  returned  in  even  worse  mood  than  before. 

"  '  Nothing  can  equal  the  stupidity  of  human  beings,' 
he  observed.  '  I  addressed  myself  to  the  captain. 
"  There's  an  island  with  shipwrecked  men  on  it  a  few 
miles  to  the  north-east,"  said  I.  "  We  shall  see  land 
in  about  ten  days,  ma'am,"  says  the  captain  to  a  lady 
on  deck.  "  There's  as  big  a  fool  as  yourself  wrecked 
on  an  island  north-east  by  north,"  I  cried.  "  If  you 
had  the  skill  of  a  sparrow  you  could  see  it  with  your  own 
eyes  in  five  minutes."  "  It's  very  remarkable,"  said 


370  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

the  captain,  "  I  never  heard  an  albatross  make  a  sound 
before."  "  And  never  will  again,"  said  I,  and  away  I 
came.  They  are  all  stupid  alike.' 

"  The  captain  watched  till  sunset,  and  folded  his 
hands,  and  bent  his  head  as  usual,  and  at  last  lay  down 
to  sleep.  He  dreamt  of  England,  and  of  home  —  of  a 
home  that  had  been  his  long  since,  of  a  young  wife,  dead 
years  ago.  He  dreamt  that  he  lay,  at  early  morning, 
in  a  sunny  room  in  a  little  cottage  where  they  had  lived, 
and  where,  in  summer,  the  morning  sun  awoke  them  not 
much  later  than  the  birds.  He  dreamt  that  his  wife 
was  by  him,  and  that  she  thought  that  he  was  asleep, 
and  that,  so  thinking,  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck 
to  awaken  him  —  that  he  lay  still,  and  pretended  to  be 
slumbering  on,  and  that,  so  lying,  he  saw  her  face  bright 
with  an  unearthly  beauty  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  with 
such  an  intensity  of  expression  that  they  held  him  like 
a  spell.  Then  he  felt  her  warm  face  come  near  to  his, 
and  she  kissed  his  cheeks,  and  he  heard  her  say,  '  Wake 
up,  my  darling,  I  have  something  to  show  you.'  Again 
she  repeated  vehemently,  '  Awake !  Awake !  Look !  Look ! ' 
and  then  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"  He  was  lying  at  the  look-out,  and  Carlo  was  licking 
his  face.  It  was  a  dream,  and  yet  the  voice  was  strong 
and  clear  in  his  ears,  '  Awake !  Awake !  Look !  Look ! ' 

"  A  heavier  hand  was  on  his  shoulder,  and  Barker's 
rough  voice  (hoarser  than  usual),  repeated  the  words  of 
his  dream. 

"  The  captain's  eyes  followed  the  outstretched  hand 
to  the  horizon;  and  then  his  own  voice  grew  hoarse,  as 
he  exclaimed  —  '  My  God !  it  is  a  sail ! ' 

Ida  was  not  leaning  on  the  little  old  lady's  footstool 
now.  She  sat  upright. 

"  Did  the  ship  take  them?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  Their  signals  were  seen,  and  the 
ship  took  them  home  to  their  friends  who  had  believed 
them  to  be  dead.  Ida,  my  dear,  remember  that,  as 
regards  the  captain  and  the  crew,  this  is  a  true  story." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Overtheway!  Do  you  think  papa  will  ever 
come  home?  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  371 

"  My  child!  my  dear  child!  "  sobbed  the  little  old  lady. 
"  I  think  he  will."  .  .  . 

"  And  he  is  alive  —  he  is  coming  home!  "  Ida  cried, 
as  she  recounted  Mrs.  Overtheway's  story  to  Nurse, 
who  knew  the  principal  fact  of  it  already.  "  And  she 
told  it  to  me  in  this  way  not  to  frighten  me." 

She  was  putting  out  her  treasures  for  him  to  look  at  — 
the  carved  fans  and  workboxes,  and  the  beads,  hand- 
kerchiefs and  feathers,  the  new  letter  and  the  old  one  — 
when  the  Captain  came. 

Abridged  from  "  Mrs.  Overtheway's  Remembrances."    Juliana  Horatia  Ewing. 

WAYSIDE  FLOWERS 

Pluck  not  the  wayside  flower; 
It  is  the  traveler's  dower. 
A  thousand  passers-by 
Its  beauties  may  espy, 

May  win  a  touch  of  blessing 
From  Nature's  mild  caressing-. 
The  sad  of  heart  perceives 
A  violet  under  leaves, 

Like  some  fresh-budding  hope; 
The  primrose  on  the  slope 
A  spot  of  sunshine  dwells 
And  cheerful  message  tells 

Of  kind  renewing  power; 
The  nodding  bluebell's  dye 
Is  drawn  from  happy  sky, 
Then  spare  the  wayside  flower! 
It  is  the  traveler's  dower. 

William  Allingham. 
LOHENGRIN 

Once,  in  the  olden  times  of  magic  and  heroes,  there 
lived  a  maiden  named  Elsa,  betrothed  to  her  kinsman, 
the  mighty  Count  Telramund.  But  in  the  court  there 
was  a  wicked  lady  who  wished,  herself,  to  have  the 
Count,  and  who  hated  Elsa  for  her  purity  and  sweetness. 
She  was  Ortruda.  In  her  evil  heart  she  pondered  how 
she  might  steal  Telramund's  love,  and,  by  leading  him 
to  put  away  Elsa,  might  persuade  him  to  take  herself 
instead. 


372  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Princess  Elsa  had  one  little  brother,  Godfrey,  whom 
she  loved  more  dearly  than  all  the  world,  and  whom  she 
used  often  to  take  into  the  forest  to  play  with  her.  One 
day  when  they  were  rambling  among  the  trees,  Ortruda 
spied  them  and  followed,  but  they,  not  knowing  this, 
sat  down  to  rest  beside  a  pool.  Suddenly  they  were 
startled  by  a  piercing,  pitiful  cry,  like  that  of  some 
animal  caught  in  a  trap.  Godfrey  hurried  away  to  give 
help  and  Elsa  sat  waiting  for  him.  Suddenly  she  heard 
a  rustling  in  the  branches  above  her,  and  looking  up,  saw 
a  great  white  swan  circling  round.  He  waved  his  wings 
wildly  as  though  in  distress,  and  then,  with  a  sad  cry, 
flew  away. 

The  time  passed  and  Godfrey  did  not  return.  She 
called  aloud  to  him,  but  there  was  no  answer;  at  last, 
after  searching  in  vain,  she  made  her  way  back  to  the 
palace,  sad  and  alone.  Two  days  passed  without  a  sign 
of  Godfrey,  and  then  Ortruda  came  to  the  Count  with 
bitter  whisperings,  persuading  him  that  Elsa  herself 
had  been  the  cause  of  Godfrey's  death.  The  deceived 
Telramund  took  Ortruda  as  his  wife,  and  placed  Elsa 
in  prison  on  a  charge  of  having  murdered  her  young 
brother. 

Soon  afterward  the  great  King  Henry  arrived  in  the 
country  of  Telramund,  and  the  Count,  to  entertain  him, 
brought  poor  Elsa  out  of  her  prison  cell,  to  be  tried  in 
state  before  the  King.  The  people  gazed  at  her  as  she 
passed,  saying  to  themselves,  "  How  pure  and  innocent 
the  maiden  looks."  As  she  reached  the  king  he  ad- 
dressed her  and  asked  if  she  were  guilty  of  the  murder 
of  her  brother.  Elsa  only  raised  her  eyes  heavenward 
for  answer,  and  said,  "  In  my  misery  I  knelt  one  night 
to  ask  God's  aid,  and  my  woeful  cry  seemed  all  at  once 
caught  up  to  the  highest  heaven.  There  stood  beside 
me  a  knight  in  glittering  armour,  a  golden  horn  slung 
about  his  neck.  That  knight  will  be  my  champion  and 
deliverer." 

Suddenly  a  cry  went  up  from  the  people  standing  near 
the  river-bank.  "A  swan!  a  swan!  drawing  a  boat! 
And  standing  in  the  prow,  a  knight  in  shining  armour!  " 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  373 

The  boat  had  now  reached  the  land,  and  the  Shining 
Knight  stepped  lightly  to  the  shore. 

"  I  have  been  sent,  O  king,"  he  said,  "  to  fight  for  the 
honour  of  an  innocent  maiden."  Then  going  to  Elsa  he 
asked,  "  Wilt  thou  take  me  for  thy  champion  without 
doubt  or  fear?  "  Elsa  declared  her  trust  in  her  de- 
liverer, and  he  said  again,  "  One  promise  I  must  ask 
thee,  if  thou  art  willing  to  trust  me  fully:  that  never 
shalt  thou  ask  of  me  my  name  and  race,  or  whence  I 
come." 

"  Never  will  I  seek  to  know  thy  secret,"  was  Elsa's 
answer.  "  Thy  love  is  enough  for  me." 

The  signal  was  given  and  the  combat  begun.  A  few 
intense  moments  —  then  a  crash,  and  the  fight  was  over. 
Telramund  had  fallen,  and  over  him  like  an  angel  of 
judgment  stood  the  Shining  Knight.  "  Through  heavens 
victory  thy  life  is  mine.  I  give  it  thee  again  that  thou 
mayest  use  it  for  repentance,"  he  said,  and  raised 
Telramund  to  his  feet.  But  the  vengeful  Count  did 
not  repent. 

That  night,  in  the  soft  starlight,  the  door  of  Elsa's 
balcony  opened,  and  the  maiden  stepped  out  to  sing  to 
the  night  her  thanksgiving.  She  praised  heaven  for  the 
shining  one  that  had  come  as  her  deliverer,  and  that 
would  soon  be  with  her  as  her  husband.  Suddenly  she 
was  aware  of  two  dark  figures  crouched  on  the  ground 
before  her.  They  were  Telramund  and  Ortruda,  thrust 
out  by  the  King.  At  sight  of  her  Telramund  slunk 
away,  but  Elsa,  full  of  forgiveness,  went  down  to  meet 
Ortruda,  and  to  take  her  in  with  her  for  the  night.  The 
evil  one  pretended  deepest  gratitude,  but  just  before 
the  doors  closed  upon  them  she  whispered  to  her  bene- 
factress, "  Who  is  this  unknown  knight  that  came  to 
thee,  and  where  is  his  home?  Canst  thou  tell  by  what 
magic  art  he  was  brought  hither?  And  why,  why  was 
it,  think  you,  that  he  refused  to  tell  even  you,  the 
bride-to-be,  his  name?  " 

"  Come,  let  me  teach  thee  the  bliss  that  comes  of 
perfect  trust,"  said  Elsa,  as  she  drew  the  false  one  in 
with  her.  But  already  evil  seeds  were  sown. 


374  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

On  the  next  day  the  wedding  was  gloriously  cele- 
brated, and  at  last  Elsa  and  her  Knight  were  alone 
together.  As  she  heard  him  speak  her  name  in  tender 
accents  a  great  wish  seized  her  to  know  the  word  which 
she  might  call  his  name.  She  thought  of  the  sentence 
Ortruda  had  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"  Alas,"  she  cried,  "  it  was  by  a  miracle  that  thou 
earnest  here.  Thy  path  is  hidden,  like  thyself,  in 
mystery." 

"  Nay,  Elsa,  cease  this,"  he  answered  gently.  "  I 
will  never  leave  thee  if  thou  trust  me." 

But  Elsa  would  not  be  quieted.  More  and  more  in- 
sistent rose  the  doubt  within  her  heart.  Why,  if  he 
were  true  and  loved  her,  should  he  be  afraid  to  tell  his 
name?  Why  should  his  wife,  the  nearest  one  on  earth, 
be  kept  from  knowledge  of  his  race  and  kindred?  At 
last  the  longing  burst  forth  with  an  unrefusable  demand. 
Whatever  might  be  his  reason  for  withholding  it,  Elsa, 
his  own  wife,  must  learn  his  name.  She  commanded 
him  to  tell  it. 

Sadly  he  looked  at  her,  but  he  saw  no  relenting  in  her 
will.     "  By  that  request  I  must  leave  thee,"  he  said, 
with  a  voice  of  sadness,  "  but  meet  me  before  the  King 
to-morrow,  and  there  in  the  presence  of  all  the  people 
I  will  declare  my  name  and  race." 

The  hour  came;  the  court  assembled;  and  the  Shining 
Knight  approached  before  the  King.  "  In  a  distant 
land,"  he  said,  "  is  a  mountain  named  Mount  Salvat. 
In  its  midst  stands  a  temple;  and  in  the  temple  is  the 
Holy  Grail.  My  father  is  Parsival,  the  King;  I  am  his 
warrior,  Lohengrin." 

When  Elsa  heard  his  words,  all  became  dark  to  her, 
and  the  ground  seemed  heaving  under  her  feet.  Lohen- 
grin gazed  at  her  with  infinite  pity  and  love.  "  O  Elsa," 
he  cried,  "  why  didst  thou  tear  my  secret  from  me? 
Now,  alas,  we  are  parted  forever." 

"  The  swan!  the  swan!  "  cried  a  chorus  of  voices  near 
the  bank  of  the  river. 

Lohengrin  placed  the  fainting  Elsa  in  her  maidens' 
arms;  stepped  to  the  river  bank,  and,  stooping,  unbound 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  375 

a  chain  from  the  swan's  neck.  The  bird  dived  deep 
into  the  waters;  another  moment,  and  a  tall,  fair  boy 
stepped  lightly  to  the  land.  It  was  the  long  lost  God- 
frey. 

Then  Lohengrin  stepped  into  the  boat,  and  was  drawn 
slowly  down  the  river  by  a  snow-white  dove,  to  be  seen 
no  more. 

Retold  from  the  Opera.  Richard  Wagner. 

THE  FOUNTS   OF   SONG 

"  What  is  the  song  I  am  singing?  " 

Said  the  pine-tree  to  the  wave: 

"  Do  you  not  know  the  song 

You  have  sung  so  long 

Down  in  the  dim-green  alleys  of  the  sea, 

And  where  the  great  blind  tides  go  swinging 

Mysteriously, 

And  where  the  countless  herds  of  the  billows  are  hurl'd 

On  all  the  wild  and  lonely  beaches  of  the  world?  " 

"  Ah,  pine-tree,"  sighed  the  wave, 

"  I  have  no  song  but  what  I  catch  from  thee: 

Far  off  I  hear  thy  strain 

Of  infinite  sweet  pain 

That  floats  along  the  lovely  phantom  land. 

I  sigh,  and  murmur  it  o'er  and  o'er  and  o'er, 

When  'neath  the  slow  compelling  hand 

That  guides  me  back  and  far  from  the  loved  shore, 

I  wonder  long 

Where  never  falls  the  breath  of  any  song, 

But  only  the  loud,  empty,  crashing  roar 

Of  seas  swung  this  way  and  that  for  evermore." 

"  What  is  the  song  I  am  singing?  " 

Said  the  poet  to  the  pine: 

"  Do  you  not  know  the  song 

You  have  sung  so  long 

Here  in  the  dim  green  alleys  of  the  woods 

Where  the  wild  winds  go  wandering  in  all  moods, 

And  whisper  often  o'er  and  o'er, 

Or  in  tempestuous  clamors  roar 

Their  dark  eternal  secret  evermore?  " 

"  Oh,  Poet,"  aaid  the  pine, 

"  Thine 

Is  that  song! 

Not  mine! 

I  have  known  it,  loved  it,  long! 


376  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

Nothing  I  know  of  what  the  wild  winds  cry 
Through  dusk  and  storm  and  night, 
Or  prophesy 

When  tempests  whirl  us  with  their  awful  might. 
Only.  I  know  that  when 
The  poet's  voice  is  heard 
Among  the  woods 

The  infinite  pain  from  out  the  hearts  of  men 
Is  sweeter  than  the  voice  of  wave  or  branch  or  bird 
In  these  dumb  solitudes." 
From  "  The  Academy."  Wm.  Sharp  (Fiona  Macleod),  1855-1905. 


MAN   BORN  TO   BE   KING 

So  wandering,  to  a  fountain's  side  he  came,  and  o'er  the  basin 
hung,  watching  the  fishes,  as  he  sung  some  song  remembered  from 
of  old,  ere  yet  the  miller  won  that  gold.  But  soon  made  drowsy 
with  his  ride,  and  the  warm,  hazy  autumn-tide,  and  many  a  musical 
sweet  sound,  he  cast  him  down  upon  the  ground,  and  watched  the 
glittering  water  leap,  still  singing  low,  nor  thought  to  sleep.  But 
scarce  three  minutes  had  gone  by  before,  as  if  in  mockery,  the 
starling  chattered  o'er  his  head,  and  nothing  he  remembered,  nor 
dreamed  of  aught  that  he  had  seen. 

Meanwhile  unto  that  garden  green  had  come  the  Princess  and 
with  her  a  maiden  that  she  held  right  dear,  ...  so  in  their  walk 
they  drew  anigh  that  fountain  in  the  'midst,  whereby  lay  Michael 
sleeping,  dreaming  naught  of  such  fair  things  so  nigh  him  brought. 
.  .  .  And  ere  the  Lady  Cecily  could  speak  a  word,  "  Hush!  hush!  " 
said  she;  "did  I  not  say  that  he  would  come  to  woo  thee  in  thy  peace- 
ful home  before  thy  father  brought  him  here?  Come,  and  behold 
him,  have  no  fear!  the  great  bell  would  not  wake  him  now,  right 
in  his  ears." 

"  Nay,  what  dost  thou?  "  the  princess  said;  "  let  us  go  hence; 
thou  know'st  I  give  obedience  to  what  my  father  bids;  but  I  a 
maid  full  fain  would  live  and  die,  since  I  am  born  to  be  a  queen." 
"  Yea,  yea,  for  such  as  thou  hast  seen,  that  may  be  well,"  the  other 
said.  "  But  come  now,  come;  for  by  my  head  this  one  must  be 
from  Paradise;  come  swiftly  then,  if  thou  art  wise  ere  aught  can 
snatch  him  back  again."  She  caught  her  hand,  and  not  in  vain 
she  prayed;  for  now  some  kindly  thought  to  Cecily's  brow  fair 
color  brought,  and  quickly  'gan  her  heart  to  beat  as  Love  drew  near 
those  eyes  to  greet,  who  knew  him  not  till  that  sweet  hour. 

So  over  the  fair,  pink-edged  flower,  softly  she  stepped;  but  when 
she  came  anigh  the  sleeper,  lovely  shame  cast  a  soft  mist  before  her 
eyes  full  filled  of  many  fantasies.  But  when  she  saw  him  lying 
there  she  smiled  to  see  her  mate  so  fair;  and  in  her  heart  did  Love 
begin  to  tell  his  tale,  nor  thought  she  sin  to  gaze  on  him  that  was 
her  own,  not  doubting  he  was  come  alone  to  woo  her,  whom  midst 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  377 

arms  and  gold  she  deemed  she  should  at  first  behold.  .  .  .  As  from 
the  place  she  turned  to  go,  sighing  and  murmuring  words  full  low. 
But  as  her  raiment's  hem  she  raised,  and  for  her  merry  fellow  gazed 
shamefaced  and  changed,  she  met  her  eyes  turned  grave  and  sad 
with  ill  surprise;  who  while  the  princess  mazed  did  stand  had  drawn 
from  Michael's  loosened  band  the  King's  scroll,  which  she  held  out 
now  to  Cecily,  and  whispered  low,  "  Read,  and  do  quickly  what  thou 
wilt,  —  sad,  sad!  such  fair  life  to  be  spilt:  come  further  first." 

With  that  they  stepped  a  pace  or  two  from  where  he  slept,  and 
then  she  read,  "  Lord  Seneschal,  on  thee  and  thine  may  all  good  fall; 
greeting  hereby  the  King  sendeth,  and  biddeth  thee  to  put  to  death 
his  enemy  who  beareth  this;  and  as  thou  lovest  life  and  bliss,  and 
all  thy  goods  thou  holdest  dear,  set  thou  his  head  upon  a  spear  a 
good  half-furlong  from  the  gate,  our  coming  hitherward  to  wait,  — 
so  perish  the  King's  enemies!  " 

She  read,  and  scarcely  had  her  eyes  seen  clear  her  father's  name 
and  seal,  ere  all  love's  power  her  heart  did  feel,  that  drew  her  back 
in  spite  of  shame,  to  him  who  was  not  e'en  a  name  unto  her  a  short 
hour  agone.  Panting  she  said,  "  Wait  thou  alone  beside  him, 
watch  him  carefully  and  let  him  sleep  if  none  draw  nigh;  if  of 
himself  he  waketh,  then  hide  him  until  I  come  again,  when  thou 
hast  told  him  of  the  snare,  —  if  thou  betrayest  me,  beware!  For 
death  shall  be  the  least  of  all  the  ills  that  on  thine  head  shall  fall,  — 
what  say  I?  —  thou  art  dear  to  me,  and  doubly  dear  now  shalt  thou 
be,  thou  shalt  have  power  and  majesty,  and  be  more  queen  in  all 
than  I.  ...  Few  words  are  best,  be  wise,  be  wise!  " 

Withal  she  turned  about  her  eyes  once  more,  and  swiftly  as  a 
man  betwixt  the  garden  trees  she  ran,  until,  her  own  bower  reached 
at  last,  she  made  good  haste,  and  quickly  passed  unto  her  secret 
treasury.  There,  hurrying  since  the  time  was  nigh  for  Folk  to 
come  from  meat,  she  took  from  'twixt  the  leaves  of  a  great  book  a 
royal  scroll,  signed,  sealed,  but  blank,  then,  with  a  hand  that  never 
shrank  or  trembled,  she  the  scroll  did  fill  with  these  words,  writ 
with  clerkly  skill,  —  "  Unto  the  Seneschal  Sir  Rafe,  who  holdeth. 
our  fair  castle  safe,  greeting  and  health !  O  well-beloved,  know  that 
at  this  time  we  are  moved  to  wed  our  daughter,  so  we  send  him  who 
bears  this,  our  perfect  friend,  to  be  her  bridegroom;  so  do  thou 
ask  nought  of  him,  since  well  we  know  his  race  and  great  nobility, 
and  how  he  is  most  fit  to  be  our  son;  therefore  make  no  delay,  but 
wed  the  twain  upon  the  day  thou  readest  this:  and  see  that  all  take 
oath  to  him,  whate'er  shall  fall,  to  do  his  bidding  as  our  heir;  so 
doing  still  be  lief  and  dear  as  I  have  held  thee  yet  to  be." 

She  cast  the  pen  down  hastily  at  that  last  letter,  for  she  heard 
how  even  now  the  people  stirred  within  the  hall:  nor  dared  she 
think  what  bitter  potion  she  must  drink  if  now  she  failed,  so  falsely 
bold  that  life  or  death  did  she  infold  within  its  cover,  making  shift 
to  seal  it  with  her  father's  gift,  a  signet  of  carnelian.  Then  swiftly 
down  the  stairs  she  ran  and  reached  the  garden;  but  her  fears 
brought  shouts  and  thunder  to  her  ears,  that  were  but  lazy  words 


378  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

of  men  full-fed,  far  off;  nay,  even  when  her  limbs  caught  up  her 
flying  gown  the  noise  seemed  loud  enough  to  drown  the  twitter  of 
the  autumn  birds,  and  her  own  muttered  breathless  words  that  to 
her  heart  seemed  loud  indeed.  Yet  therewithal  she  made  good 
speed  and  reached  the  fountain  seen  of  none,  where  yet  abode  her 
friend  alone,  watching  the  sleeper,  who  just  now  turned  in  his  sleep 
and  muttered  low. 

Therewith  fair  Agnes  saying  naught  from  out  her  hand  the  letter 
caught;  and  while  she  leaned  against  the  stone  stole  up  to  Michael's 
side  alone,  and  with  a  cool,  unshrinking  hand  thrust  the  new  scroll 
deep  in  his  band,  and  turned  about  unto  her  friend;  who,  having 
come  unto  the  end  of  all  her  courage,  trembled  there  with  face 
upturned  for  fresher  air,  and  parted  lips  grown  gray  and  pale,  and 
limbs  that  now  began  to  fail,  .  .  .  feebly  she  said,  "  Go!  let  me  die 
and  end  this  sudden  misery.  .  .  ."  But  Agnes  took  her  hand  and 
said,  "  Nay,  Queen,  and  must  we  three  be  dead  because  thou  fearest? 
All  is  safe  if  boldly  thou  wilt  face  Sir  Rafe."  So  saying,  did  she 
draw  her  hence,  past  tree  and  bower,  and  high  pleached  fence  and 
said,  "  See  now  thou  dost  not  shrink  from  this  thy  deed;  let  love 
slay  fear  now,  when  thy  life  shall  grow  so  dear,  each  minute  should 
seem  loss  to  thee  if  thou  for  thy  felicity  couldst  stay  to  count  them; 
for  I  say,  this  day  shall  be  thy  happy  day.  .  .  ." 

And  even  as  she  spoke  they  came,  and  all  the  green  place  was 
aflame  with  golden  raiment  of  the  lords;  while  Cecily,  noting  not 
their  words,  rose  up  to  go;  and  for  her  part  by  this  had  fate  so 
steeled  her  heart,  scarce  otherwise  she  seemed,  than  when  she  passed 
before  the  eyes  of  men  at  tourney  or  high  festival.  But  when  they 
now  had  reached  the  hall,  and  up  its  very  steps  they  went,  her  head 
a  little  down  she  bent;  nor  raised  it  till  the  dais  was  gained  for  fear 
that  love  some  monster  feigned  to  be  a  god,  and  she  should  be  smit 
by  her  own  bolt  wretchedly.  But  at  the  rustling,  crowded  dais 
she  gathered  heart  her  eyes  to  raise,  and  there  beheld  her  love, 
indeed,  clad  in  her  father's  serving  weed,  but  proud,  and  flushed, 
and  calm  withal;  fearless  of  aught  that  might  befall,  nor  too 
astonished,  for  he  thought,  — "  From  point  to  point  my  life  is 
brought  through  wonders  till  it  comes  to  this;  and  trouble  cometh 
after  bliss,  and  I  will  bear  all  as  I  may,  and  ever,  as  day  passeth  day, 
my  life  will  hammer  from  the  twain,  forging  a  long-enduring  chain." 

But  midst  these  thoughts  their  young  eyes  met,  and  every  word 
did  he  forget  wherewith  men  name  unhappiness,  as  read  again  those 
words  did  bless  with  double  blessings  his  glad  ears.  And  if  she 
trembled  with  her  fears,  and  if  with  doubt,  and  love,  and  shame, 
the  rosy  color  went  and  came  in  her  sweet  cheeks  and  smooth 
bright  brow,  little  did  folk  think  of  it  now,  but  as  of  maiden  modesty, 
shamefaced  to  see  the  bridegroom  nigh.  And  now  when  Rafe  the 
Seneschal  had  read  the  message  down  the  hall,  and  turned  to  her, 
quite  calm  again  her  face  had  grown,  and  with  no  pain  she  raised 
her  serious  eyes  to  his,  grown  soft  and  pensive  with  his  bliss,  and 
said:  "  Prince,  thou  art  welcome  here,  where  all  my  father  loves  is 


FOR     ORAL     ENGLISH  379 

dear,  and  full  trust  do  I  put  in  thee,  for  that  so  great  nobility  he 
knoweth  in  thee;  be  as  kind  as  I  would  be  to  thee,  and  find  a  happy 
life  from  day  to  day,  till  all  our  days  are  passed  away." 

What  more  than  found  the  bystanders  he  found  within  this  speech 
of  hers,  I  know  not;  some  faint  quivering  in  the  last  words;  some 
little  thing  that  checked  the  cold  words'  even  flow,  but  yet  they  set 
his  heart  aglow,  and  he  in  turn  said  eagerly:  —  "  Surely  I  count  it 
naught  to  die  for  him  who  brought  me  unto  this;  for  thee,  who 
givest  me  this  bliss;  yea,  even  dost  me  such  a  grace  to  look  with  kind 
eyes  in  my  face,  and  send  sweet  music  to  my  ears." 

But  at  his  words  she,  mazed  with  tears,  seemed  faint,  and  failing 
quickly,  when  above  the  low  hum  of  the  men  uprose  the  sweet  bells' 
sudden  clang,  as  men  unto  the  chapel  rang;  while  just  outside  the 
singing  folk  into  most  heavenly  carols  broke.  And  going  softly  up 
the  hall  boys  bore  aloft  the  verges  tall  before  the  bishop's  gold-clad 
head.  Then  forth  his  bride  young  Michael  led,  and  naught  to  him 
seemed  good  or  bad  except  the  lovely  hand  he  had ;  but  she  the  while 
was  murmuring  low,  "  If  he  could  know,  if  he  could  know,  what  love, 
what  love,  his  love  should  be!  " 

But  while  mid  mirth  and  minstrelsy  the  ancient  Castle  of  the  Rose 
such  pageant  to  the  autumn  showi  the  King  sits  ill  at  ease  at  home, 
for  in  these  days  the  news  is  come  that  he  who  in  his  line  should  wed 
lies  in  his  own  town  stark  and  dead,  slain  in  a  tumult  in  the  street. 
Brooding  on  this  he  deemed  it  meet,  since  nigh  the  day  was  come 
when  she  her  bridegroom's  visage  looked  to  see,  to  hold  the  settled 
day  with  her,  and  bid  her  at  the  least  to  wear  dull  mourning  guise 
for  gold  and  white.  So  on  another  morning  bright,  when  the  whole 
promised  month  was  past,  he  drew  anigh  the  place  at  last  where 
Michael's  dead  head,  looking  down  upon  the  highway  with  a  frown, 
he  doubted  not  at  last  to  see.  So  'twixt  the  fruitful  greenery  he 
rode,  scarce  touched  by  care  the  while,  humming  a  roundel  with  a 
smile. 

Withal,  ere  yet  he  drew  anigh,  he  heard  their  watch-horn  sound 
from  high,  nor  wondered,  for  their  wont  was  so,  and  well  his  banner 
they  might  know  amidst  the  stubble- lands  afar:  but  now  a  distant 
point  of  war  he  seemed  to  hear,  and  bade  draw  rein,  but  listening 
cried,  "  Push  on  again!  They  do  but  send  forth  minstrelsy  because 
my  daughter  thinks  to  see  the  man  who  lieth  on  his  bier."  So  on 
they  passed,  till  sharp  and  clear  they  heard  the  pipe  and  shrill  fife 
sound;  and  restlessly  the  King  glanced  round  to  see  that  he  had 
striven  for,  the  crushing  of  that  sage's  lore,  the  last  confusion  of 
that  fate. 

But  drawn  still  higher  to  the  gate  they  turned  a  sharp  bend  of 
the  road,  and  saw  the  pageant  that  abode  the  solemn  coming  of 
the  King.  For  first  on  each  side,  maids  did  sing,  dressed  in  gold 
raiment;  then  there  came  the  minstrels  in  their  coats  of  flame; 
and  then  the  many-colored  lords,  the  knights'  spears,  and  the 
swordmen's  swords,  backed  by  the  glittering  wood  of  bills. 

So  now,  presaging  many  ills,  the  King  drew  rein,  yet  none  the 


380  LITTLE     CLASSICS 

less  he  shrank  not  from  his  hardiness,  but  thought,  "  Well,  at  the 
worst  I  die,  and  yet  perchance  long  life  may  lie  before  me  —  I  will 
hold  my  peace;  the  dumb  man's  borders  still  increase."  But  as 
he  strengthened  thus  his  heart  he  saw  the  crowd  before  him  part, 
and  down  the  long  melodious  lane,  hand  locked  in  hand  there  passed 
the  twain,  as  fair  as  any  earth  has  found,  clad  as  kings'  children  are, 
and  crowned.  Behind  them  went  the  chiefest  lords,  and  two  old 
knights  with  sheathed  swords  the  banners  of  the  kingdom  bore. 

But  now  the  King  had  pondered  sore,  by  when  they  reached  him, 
though,  indeed,  the  time  was  short  unto  his  need,  betwixt  his  heart's 
first  startled  pang  and  those  old  banner-bearers'  clang  anigh  his 
saddle-bow;  but  he  across  their  heads  scowled  heavily,  not  saying 
aught  awhile;  at  last,  ere  any  glance  at  them  he  cast,  he  said, 
"  Whence  come  ye?  what  are  ye?  what  play  is  this  ye  play  to  me?  " 

None  answered  —  Cecily,  faint  and  white,  the  rather  Michael's 
hand  clutched  tight,  and  seemed  to  speak,  but  not  one  word  the 
nearest  to  her  could  have  heard.  Then  the  King  spoke  again,  — 
"  Sir  Rafe,  meseems  this  youngling  came  here  safe  a  week  agone?  " 
"  Yea,  sir,"  he  said;  "  therefore  the  twain  I  straight  did  wed, 
e'en  as  thy  letters  bound  me  to."  "  And  thus  thou  didest  well  to 
do,"  the  King  said.  "  Tell  me  on  what  day  her  old  life  she  did  put 
away."  "  Sire,  the  eleventh  day  is  this  since  that  they  gained 
their  earthly  bliss,"  quoth  old  Sir  Rafe.  The  King  said  naught, 
but  with  his  head  bowed  down  in  thought,  stood  a  long  while;  but 
at  the  last  upward  a  smiling  face  he  cast,  and  cried  aloud  above 
the  folk:  "  Shout  for  the  joining  of  the  yoke  be  betwixt  these  twain! 
And  thou,  fair  lord,  who  dost  so  well  my  every  word,  nor  makest 
doubt  of  anything,  wear  thou  the  collar  of  thy  king;  and  a  duke's 
banner,  cut  foursquare,  henceforth  shall  men  before  thee  bear  in 
tourney  and  in  stricken  field. 

"  But  this  mine  heir  shall  bear  my  shield,  carry  my  banner,  wear 
my  crown,  ride  equal  with  me  through  my  town,  sit  on  the  same  step 
of  the  throne;  in  nothing  will  I  reign  alone;  nor  be  ye  with  him 
miscontent,  for  that  with  little  ornament  of  gold  or  folk  to  you  he 
came;  for  he  is  of  an  ancient  name  that  needeth  not  the  clink  of 
gold  —  the  ancientest  the  world  doth  hold ;  for  in  the  fertile  Asian 
land,  where  great  Damascus  now  doth  stand,  ages  agone  his  line 
was  bom,  ere  yet  men  knew  the  gift  of  corn;  and  there,  anigh  to 
Paradise,  his  ancestors  grew  stout  and  wise;  and  certes  he  from 
Asia  bore  no  little  of  their  piercing  lore.  Look  then  to  have  great 
happiness,  for  every  wrong  shall  he  redress." 

So  mid  sweet  song  and  taboring,  and  shouts  amid  the  apple- 
grove,  and  soft  caressing  of  his  love,  began  the  new  King  Michael's 
reign.  Nor  will  the  poor  folk  see  again  a  king  like  him  on  any 
throne,  or  such  good  deeds  to  all  men  done:  for  them,  as  saith  the 
chronicle,  it  was  the  time,  as  all  men  tell,  when  scarce  a  man  would 
stop  to  gaze  at  gold  crowns  hung  above  the  ways. 

William  Morris,  1834-1896. 


INDEX 


Abraham  Lincoln,  Trpwbridge,  92. 

Addison,  Joseph,  Giving  Advice,  171. 

Age,  Allegory  on,   145. 

Akers,  Elizabeth,  In  April,  9. 

Aldrich,  Ext.,  Marjorie's  Almanac,  7. 

Alger,  W.  R.,  Banner  and  Carpet,  18. 

Allmgham,  Wm.,  Windlass  Song,  26; 
Wayside  Flowers,  371. 

Alma-Tadema,  Snowdrops,  350. 

Almond  Blossom,  Arnold,  250. 

Ambient,  May  to  December,  330. 

Anderson,  Daisy,  183;  Flax,  271. 

Ants,  Poem  on,  115. 

April,  Akers,  9. 

April  Days,  Tennyson,  358. 

Arnold,  Edwin,  Swallows,  213;  Almond 
Blossom,  250. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  Calm  Soul,  48. 

Autumn,  A  Riddle,   52. 

Autumn's  Mirth,  Peck,  349. 

Awakening  of  Spring,  Tennyson,  84. 

Aytoun,  Wm.  E.,  Ext.,  123;  Edin- 
burgh After  Flodden,  264. 

Bailey,   Philip   J.,   Ext.,   Deeds,   58. 

Banks,  G.  Linnaeus,  I  Live,  etc.,  284. 

Banner  and  Carpet,  Alger,  18. 

Barbauld,  Eyes  and  No  Eyes,  247. 

Barefoot    Boy,    Whittier,    197. 

Baring-Gould,  Sabine,  Olive  Tree, 
158;  Building  of  St.  Sophia,  167. 

Barricade,  Hugo,   124. 

Bates,  Arlo,  Harebells,  16. 

Bathbuty,  Calling  the  Flowers,  12. 

Battle  Song,  Elliott,   104. 

Bear,  The,  French,  189. 

Beecher,   Coming   and   Going,   203. 

Bell  Buoy,  Kipling,   25. 

Bell  of  Atri,   Longfellow,   336. 

Bennett,   Robin  at   My  Window,  16. 

Bird's  Nest,  Turner,  13;    Hurdis,  62. 

Bjornson,   How   Cliff  was   Clad,    213. 

Blake,   Dog  Starved,  61;    Piper,  357. 

Blakewell,  Mary  E.,  Nautilus,  301. 

Blessing  of  the  Bruce,  Scott,  49. 

Blind  Men  and  Elephant,  Saxe,  70. 

Bloodless  Sportsman,   Foss,   263. 

Blue  and  Gray,  Finch,  254. 

Bluebell,    73. 

Boastful  Rushlight,  136. 

Bourdillon,  F.  W.,  Sight  and  In- 
sight, 126;  Upon  Valley's  Lap, 
136;  Wild-Flower,  147;  All  Things 
New,  338;  Under  a  Pine-Tree,  358. 

Bowker,  R.  R.,  Toll  No  More,  59. 

Bowles,  Butterfly  and  Bee,  90. 

Boy's  Song  in  Spring,  Scollard,  21. 

Brave  Newspaper  Boy,   325. 

Brooke,  A.,  Eternally  Young,  156. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  Simplicity  of  Lincoln, 
80;  Christmas  Song,  231. 

Browning,  Pippa's  Song,  42;  Prel- 
ude to  Dram.  Idyls,  90;  Home 
Thoughts,  94;  Such  a  Starved,  128. 


Bryant,  Robert  of  Lincoln,  206. 

Buchanan,  Robert,  Spring  Song,  289. 

Builder's  Lesson,  O'Reilly,  46. 

Building  of  St.  Sophia,  167. 

Bunner,  H.  C.,  One,  Two,  Three,  192. 

Bunyan,  John,  House  Beautiful,  347. 

Burnett,  Frances  H.,  Old  Earl  and 
Grandson,  231. 

Burns,  Cock  Robin  and  Jenny  Wren, 
63;  My  Heart's  in  Highlands,  74. 

Burroughs,  John,  The  Crow,  Ext.,  57; 
My  Own  Shall  Come,  108. 

Burton,  Richard,  Poet  to  Cloud,  83. 

Butterfly   and   Bee,   Bowles,   90. 

Butterfly's   Toilet,    Waterman,    15. 

Butterworth,  Hezekiah,  Snowbird,  45; 
Taper,  134;  Lincoln's  Heart,  150. 

Butts,  M.F.,  The  Water  Lily,  86. 

Byron,  Lord,  On  Washington,  22; 
Vision  of  Belshazzar,  255. 

Calling    Flowers,    Bathbuty,    12. 

Campbell,  Hohenlinden,  37;  Na- 
poleon and  Sailor,  69. 

Carleton,  Ext.,  Settler's  Story,  147. 

Carlyle,    Thomas,    To-Day,    245. 

Carroll,  Lewis,  Song  of  Love,  230. 

Gary,  Alice,  Suppose,  14;  Honey-Bee, 
15;  Old  Maxims,  18;  Nobility,  64; 
Gray  Swan,  149. 

Cathedral  of  Lubec,  Inscription,  67. 

Cawein,  Whippoorwill  Song,  324. 

Chaucer,    Geoffrey,    Chanticler,    225. 

Cheery  Call,  Cooper,  334. 

Child  and  Boatman,  Ingelow,   112. 

Child,  Lydia,  Thanksgiving  Day,  254. 

Children's  Hour,  Longfellow,  96. 

Christmas  Song,   Brooks,    231. 

Church-Clock    and    Sun-Dial,    299. 

Clark,  James  G.,  Mountains,  347. 

Clemens,  Samuel  L.,  Courage,  285. 

Clifford,  Wordsworth,  195. 

Cock  Robin  and  Jenny  Wren,  68. 

Conscience.  Parker,  280. 

Coolidge,  Susan,  How  Leaves  Came 
Down,  308. 

Cooper,  Geo.,  Cheery  Call,  334; 
What  Robin  Told,  359. 

Corn  Song,  Whittier,  275. 

Cowper,  Wm.,  Ext.,  Alexander  Selkirk, 
48;  A  Tale,  65. 

Craik,  Dinah  M.,  New  Year,  167; 
Magic  Ring,  208;  Green  Things 
Growing,  228;  John  Halifax,  Gentle- 
man, 256. 

Crawford,   Capt.   Jack,   Ext.,    133. 

Cricket  Song,  Taylor,  120. 

Crockett,  S.  R.,  A  Small  Soldier,  265. 

Daffydowndilly,   Hawthorne,   317. 

Daisy,  Andersen,  183;  Montgomery, 
63;  Rodd,  32. 

Daisy's  First  Winter,  Stowe,  165. 

Daniel,  251. 

Dartside,  Kingsley,  87. 


381 


382 


INDEX 


Davidson,  Ert.,  Harvest-Home,  33. 
Day,   Holman   F.,   The   Mother,    131. 
Dcrvis   and   Lost   Camel,    294. 
Despise  Not  Your  Neighbor,  66. 
Dickinson,  Fringed  Gentian,  84. 
Dobell,  Procession  of  Flowers,  8. 
Dog  and  Shadow,  237. 
Dog  in  Manger,  41. 
Donnelly,  Gualberto's  Victory,  160. 
Douglas,  Who  Loves  Trees,  346. 
Douglas   and   James,   Scott,   217. 
Douglas,  Marian,  Thanksgiving,  143. 
Dragon-Fly,  Tennyson,  89. 
Drayton,  Michael,  Fine  Day,  84. 
Dying  in  Harness,  O'Reilly,  288. 
Earl  and  Grandson,  Burnett,  231. 
Edinburgh  After  Flodden,  264. 
Eggleston,  Geo.  C.,  Two  Minutes,  77. 
Eliot,  George,  Spring  Song,  10. 
Elliott,   Ebenezer,   Battle   Song,    104. 
Emerson,  R.  W.,  Ext.,  Song  of  Na- 
ture,    28;     Whoever    Fights,     296; 

Rhodora,  344;  Return  of  Birds,  345. 
Enchanted  Shirt,  Hay,   292. 
Eternally    Young,    Brooke,    156. 
Evarts,  National  Banner,  183. 
Ewing,    Jackanapes    and    Pony,    289; 

Ida  and  Mrs.  Overtheway,  362. 
Eyes  and  No  Eyes,  Barbauld,  247. 
Farewell,  Kingsley,  217. 
Fellow  Who  Fights  Alone,  McCarthy, 

332. 

Fencing  Match,  Rostand,  237. 
Fields,  J.  T.,  Owl  Critic,  297;   Walter 

Scott,  305. 

Finch,  Blue  and  Gray,  254. 
Fine  Day,  Drayton,  84. 
Fisher  Boy,  338. 

Flag,  The,  Denis  McCarthy,  22. 
Flax,   Andersen,    271. 
Flower  Folk,  Rossetti,  69. 
Fly,  Ramal,  46. 

Follen,  Eliza  L.,  Ext.,  Good-Night,  24. 
Forest  Song,  Venable,  29. 
Fortune  and  the  Beggar,  44. 
Foss,  Sam  Walter,  Hullo,  36;    Singer, 

140;    House  by  Side  of  Road,  172; 

Bloodless  Sportsman,  263. 
Fountain,  Lowell,  43. 
Founts  of  Song,  Sharp,  375. 
Four-Leaf  Clover,  Higginson,  80. 
Fraidie-Cat,  Scollard,  114. 
French,  Alice,  The  Bear,  189. 
Fringed  Gentian,  Dickinson,  84. 
Gallagher,  W.  D.,  May.  179. 
Garabrant,  Mr.    Wiry-Legs,  142. 
Garland,  Hamlin,  Line  Up,  Boys,  32. 
Gay,  John,  Lion  and  Cub,  304. 
Gayarre,  King  and  Knight,  315. 
Gettysburg    Address,    Lincoln,    81. 
Gift  of  Empty  Hands,   Piatt,  322. 
Gift    of   Tritemius,    Whittier,    314. 
Golden  Rule,   Jones,   309. 
Goldsmith,  Whang,  the  Miller,  193. 
Goodale,   Dora,   White  Clover,   10. 
Good  Shepherd,   The,   79. 
Gould,  Hannah  F.,  Thimble,  85. 
Gray  Dove's  Answer,  Weatherby,  101. 
Gray  Swan,   Cary,   149. 
Green  Things  Growing,  Craik,  228. 
Gualberto's    Victory,    Donnelly,    160. 
Guessing  Song,  Johnstone,  31. 
Hairy  Woodpecker,   Merriam,   339. 
Hardy,  A.  S.,  Ext.,  Immortality,  7. 
Harebells,  Bates,  16. 


Hare  that  Frightened  Beasts,   162. 

Harmosan,  Trench,  125. 

Harry's  Riches,  278. 

Harte,  Bret,  Came  the  Relief,  89; 
Ext.,  John  Burns,  109. 

Hawthorne,  Daffydowndilly,  317. 

Hay,   John,   Enchanted  Shirt,   292. 

He  Found  It,  124. 

Hemans,  Landing  of  Pilgrims,  53. 

Henley,   Wm.    E.,    Discharged,   95. 

Henry  at  Agincourt,  Shakespeare,  218. 

Hero,  Taylor,  130. 

Hiawatha's  Childhood,  201. 

Higginson,  Four-Leaf  Clover,  80. 

Higginson,  Thomas  Wentworth,  Wait- 
ing for  the  Bugle,  96. 

High  up  on  Lonely,   58. 

Hohenlinden,  Campbell,   37. 

Holmes,  Oliver  W.,  To  an  Insect,  344; 
Lord  of  all,  Ext.,  109. 

Home  Thoughts,  Browning,  94. 

Honey  Bee,  Cary,  15. 

Hood,  Thomas,  There  is  Dew,  28. 

Hooper,  Lucy,  Beauty  and  Duty,  75. 

House  Beautiful,  Bunyan,  347. 

House  by  Side  of  Road,  Foss,  172. 

House  that  Jack  Built,  269. 

Hovey,  Richard,  Of  all  our  Good.  35. 

How  Cliff  was  Clad,  Bjornson,  213. 

How    Hans   was   Promoted,    246. 

How  Leaves  Came  Down,  308. 

How  Nautilus  Left  Ship,  Blakewell, 
301. 

How  Woodpecker  Knows,  Long,  122. 

Hugo,  Victor,  Goodnight,  102;  Bar- 
ricade, 124. 

Hullo.  Foss,  36. 

Hurdis,   James,   Bird's   Nest,   62.    ' 

Hymn  to  the  Night,  Longfellow,  28. 

Ida  and   Mrs.  Overtheway,   362. 

I  Live  For  Those,  Banks,  284. 

I   Make   all   New,   Bourdillon,    338. 

Indian   Boaster,   Longfellow,    76. 

Ingelow,  Jean.  Seven  Times  Two,  66. 
Child  and  Boatman,  112;  Lark  and 
His  Spurs,  151;  Woman's  Light- 
house, 159;  Supper  at  Mill,  198. 

In  School-Days,  Whittier,  81. 

In  Town,  Matheson,  335. 

lo  Victis,  Story,  207. 

Ivy   Green,   Procter,    188. 

Jackanapes  and  Pony,  Ewing,  289. 

Jackson,  H.  H.,  Saint  Christopher,  90. 

John  Burns  of  Gettysburg,  Ext., 
Harte,  109. 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman,  Craik,  256. 

Johnstone,  Henry,  Guessing  Song,  31. 

Jjke,  Good  Practical,  156. 

Jones,  Samuel  M.,  Golden  Rule,  309. 

Jordan,  David  S.,  Blue  Fox,  229. 

Journey,  Peabody,  88. 

Judge's  Debt,  220. 

June,  Lowell,  224. 

Keeler,  Charles  A.,  Lesson,  114; 
Trouble  in  the  Trees,  343;  Kid  and 
Wolf,  44. 

King,  Ben,  Pessimist,  310. 

Kingfisher,  Thompson,  37. 

King  John  and  Knight,  Gayarre,  315. 

Kingsley,  Charles,  Dartside,  87;  Fare- 
well, 217;  Song  of  River,  350. 

Kipling,  Rudyard,  Bell  Buoy,  25; 
Playing  Robinson  Crusoe,  110; 
True  Royalty,  100;  Moti  Guj,  240. 

Knowles,  Scene  from  Alfred,  327. 


INDEX 


383 


Lang,   Andrew,  Scythe  Song,   317. 
Langhorne,    John,    Redbreast,    315. 
Lanier,    Sidney,   The   Robin,    30. 
Lark  and  His  Spurs,  Ingelow,  151. 
Lawler,  Hugh,  The  Thrush,  130. 
Leap  for   Life,    Morris,    103. 
Lear,  Edward,  Table  and  Chair,  115; 

Owl   and   Pussy-Cat,    253. 
Legend  of  Saint  Chris.,  Jackson,  90. 
Lesson,  A,  Keeler,  114. 
Lesson  in  Courage,  Mark  Twain,  285. 
Life's  Torch,  Newbolt,  26. 
Lincoln,  A.,  Gettysburg  Address,  81. 
Lincoln's  Heart,  Butterworth,  150. 
Lindsay,  Three  Minstrels,  359. 
Lkie  Up,  Brave  Boys,  Garland,  32. 
Lion   and  Cub,  Gay,  304. 
Little  Blue  Fox,   Jordan,    229. 
Little  Garaine,  Parker,  324. 
Little  Giffen,  Ticknor,  331. 
Lohengrin,  Wagner,  371. 
Long,     Wm.     J.,     How     Woodpecker 

Knows,  122. 
Longfellow,  H.  W.,  Hymn  to  Night, 

28;    Indian  Boaster,  76;    Children's 

Hour,  96;    Day  is  Done,  151;    Hia- 
watha's   Childhood,    201;     Bell    of 

Atri,  336. 

Lost  Ax,   Aesop,   283. 
Lost  Lamb,  Westwood,  300. 
Lowell,     James     R.,     Fountain,     43; 

Yussouf,     139;      June,     224;      Bird 

Neighbors,   296. 
Lowell,  R.  T.  S.,  Lucknow,  137. 
Lucknow,  Relief  of,  Lowell,  137. 
McCarthy,   Denis  A.,  Place  to  Play, 

276;     Ext.,    Singer,    54;     Flag,    22; 

Who  Fights  Alone,  332. 
Macdonald,   George,   May,   34;  Wind 

and  Moon,  245;  Riddle,  275;  North 

Wind,   352. 
Mackay,  Charles,  Clear  the  Way,  164; 

Good    Time    Coming,     26;     Little 

Child,  111. 

Magic  Ring,  Craik,  208. 
Man  Born  to  be  King,  Morris,  376. 
Markham,    Edwin,    Poetry,    144. 
Martin,  Ed.  S.,  Ext.,  Sea  is  His.  135. 
Mason,  Mary  A.,  Little  Neighbor,  295. 
Matheson,  E.,  In  Town,  335. 
May,  Gallagher,   179. 
Meredith,  Gep.,  The  Storm  Wind,  179. 
Merriam,  Hairy  Woodpecker,  339. 
Merrill,  J.  W.,  V/rong  Righted,  47. 
Minnie  and  Winnie,  Tennyson,  39. 
Mitford,  Mary  R.,  Linnet,  9. 
Montgomery,   James,   Daisy,   63. 
Moon-Child,    Macleod    (Sharp),    270. 
Moore,    Hannah,   Riddle,    118. 
Morris,  Geo.  P.,  Leap  for  Life,   103. 
Morris,  Wm.,  Man  Born  King,  376. 
Mother,  The,  Day,  131. 
Moti  Guj,  Kipling,  240. 
Moultrie,  J.,  Violets,  357. 
Mountains,   Clark,   347. 
Mr.  Bull-Frog's  Party,  212. 
Mr.  Wiry-Legs,   142. 
My  Country,  'tis  of  Thee,  35. 
My  Heart's  in  Highlands,  Burns,  74. 
My  Little  Neighbor,  Mason,  295. 
My  Own  Shall  Come,  Burroughs,  108. 
Napoleon   and  Sailor,   Campbell,   69. 
National  Banner,  Evarts,  183. 
Nesbit,  E.,  Silence,  94. 
Newbolt,  Henry,  Life's  Torch,  26. 


Newman,  John  H.,  Gentleman,  74. 
New  Year,  Craik,   167. 
No,  186. 

Nobility,  Gary,  64. 
North  Wind,  Macdonald,  352. 
Oberon  and  Titania,  Shakespeare,  113. 
Old  Scrap  Book,  312. 
Olive  Tree,  Baring-Gould,  158. 
One  Ship  Sails  East,   59. 
One,   Two,   Three,   Bunner,    192. 
O'Reilly,   Builder's   Lesson,   46;     Dy- 
ing in  Harness,  288. 
Orpheus,  Shakespeare,  111. 
Over  the  Hills,  71. 
Owl  and  Pussy-Cat,  Lear,   253. 
Owl  Critic,  Fields,  297. 
Owl,  Tennyson,  362. 
Parable  of  Life,  323. 
Parker,  Gilbert,  Little  Garaine,   324. 
Parker,  Theodore,  Conscience,  280. 
Peabody,  Josephine  P.,  Journey,  88. 
Peck,  Elsie,  Where  Fields  Lie,  42. 
Peck,  Samuel  M.,  Autumn's  Mirth,  349. 
Perry,  Nora,  Three  Destinies,   128. 
Pert  Chicken,   19. 
Pessimist,  King,  310. 
Piatt,  Mrs.,  Empty  Hands,  322. 
Piper,  Blake,  357. 
Place   to   Play,    McCarthy,    276. 
Pocahontas,   Thackeray,    79. 
Poetry,    Markham,    144. 
Poet's  Song,  Tennyson,  312. 
Poet  to  the  Cloud,  Burton,  83. 
Polly,  Rands,  256. 
Pop-Corn  Man,  Scollard,  52. 
Prelude  Dram.  Idyls,  Browning,  90. 
Procession  of  Flowers,  Dobell,  8. 
Procter,  Adelaide,  Rise,  104;   Legend 

of  Bregenz,  126;  Ivy  Green,  188. 
Procter,  B.  W.,  Oh,  the  Night,  27. 
Railway  Train,  129. 
Ramal,    Walter,   The   Fly,   46. 
Rand,  Martha,  Sun  and  Poppies,  61. 
Rands,  Wm.  B.,  Polly,  256. 
Reade,   Charles,  Practical  Joke,    156. 
Return  of  Birds,   Emerson,   345. 
Rhodora,   Emerson,   344. 
Riddle,  Macdonald,  275;   Moore,  118. 
Riley,  Jas.  W.,  Ext.,  Brook-Song,  83. 
River  Song,  Salmon,  93. 
Robbers,  The,  268. 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  Bryant,   206. 
Robertson,  Other  Side  of  Sky,  54. 
Robin  at  My  Window,  Bennett,   16. 
Robin,  Lanier,  30. 

Roche,  J.  J.,  V-a-s-e,  185;    Lily,  292. 
Rodd,  Rennell,  The  Daisy,  32. 
Romance,  Setoun,  340. 
Rossetti,  C.  G.,  All  Things  Wait,  13; 

An  Emerald,  60;    Flower  Folk,  69; 

Stars,   351. 

Rostand,  Fencing  Match,  237. 
Russell,  George  W.  ( A.  E.) ,  Far  Op  Dim 

Twilight,  129;   Vesture  of  Soul,  88. 
Russian's  Daughter,  Yonge,  173. 
Sah-ion,  Arthur  L.,  River  Song,  93. 
Sandelin,  C.  C.,  O  Mighty  Sea,  60. 
Saxe,  Blind  Men  and  Elephant,  70. 
Scollard,     Clinton,     Boy's     Song     in 

Spring,    21;     Pop-Corn    Man,    52; 

Fraidie-Cat,  114. 
Scott,    Lay    of    Last    Minstrel,    40; 

Blessing  of  Bruce,  49;  Douglas  and 

James,  217. 
Scythe  Song,  Lang,  317. 


384 


INDEX 


Sensualist,  Trowbridge,  146. 

September.  17. 

Setoun,  Gabriel,  World's  Music,  107; 
Romance,  340. 

Seven   Time*  Two,   Ingelow,   66. 

Shakespeare,  Wm.,  Where  Bee  Suckt, 
10;  Cowards  Die  Many,  60;  Or- 
pheus, 111;  Oberon  and  Titania, 
113;  Henry  at  Agincourt,  218. 

Sharp,  Wm.,  Moon-Child,  270;  Founts 
of  Song,  375. 

Shepherd   Boy's  Song,   Bunyan,   351. 

Shoemaker  and  Fairies,  310. 

Sight  and  Insight.  Bourdillon,  126. 

Silence,  Nesbit,  94. 

Sill.  E.  R.,  Spring  Twilight,   14. 

Simplicity  of  Lincoln,  Brooks,  80. 

Sing  a  Song  of  Sixpence,  141. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  Fields,   305. 

Skater  Pursued  by  Wolves,  179. 

Sleighing  Song.   146. 

Small  Celandine,  Wordsworth,  216. 

Small  Soldier,  Crockett,  265. 

Snowdrop.  Tennyson,    108. 

Snowdrops,  Alma-Tadema,  350. 

Song  for  Flag  Day.  Ward,  130. 

Song  of  Love,  Carroll,  230. 

Song  of  River,  Kingsley,  350. 

Sowing,    216. 

Spring,   Shakespeare,   283. 

Spring  Song,  Eliot,  10. 

Spring  Song  in  City,  Buchanan,  289. 

Spring  Twilight,  Sill,  14. 

Stars,   Rossetti,   351. 

Stedman,  E.  C.,  Ext.,  Cavalry  Charge, 
62;  Hand  of  Lincoln,  78. 

Stevenson,  R.  L.,  Ext.,  The  Little 
Land,  58;  Letter.  341. 

Storm  Wind,  Meredith.  179. 

Story,  Wm.  W.,  lo  Victis,  207. 

Stowe,  Harriet  B.,  Daisy's  First 
Winter,  165;  Bluebird,  Ext.,  23. 

Sun  and  Poppies,  Rand,  61. 

Supper  at  Mill,   Ingelow,   198. 

Swallows,  Arnold,  213. 

Tabb,  John  B.,  Water-Lily,  85. 

Table  and  Chair.  Lear,  115. 

Tale,  Cowper,  65. 

Taper,  The,  Butterworth,  134. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  Cricket  Song,  120. 

Taylor,   Henry,   Hero,    130. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  Ext.,  Lady  Clara,  20; 
Minnie  and  Winnie,  39;  Spring,  84; 
Dragon-Fly ,  89;  Snowdrop,  108; 
Poet's  Song,  312;  Throstle,  346; 
April  Days,  358;  Owl,  362. 

Thackeray,  Wm.  M.,  Pocahontas,  79. 

Thanksgiving  Day,  Child,  254. 

Thimble,  Gould,  85. 

Things  that  Count,  Urmy,  75. 

Thompson,  Maurice,  Kingfisher,  37. 

Three  Destinies,  Perry,  128. 

Three  Minstrels,  Lindsay,  359. 

Throstle,  Tennyson,  346. 

Thrush,  Lawler,  130. 

Ticknor,  Francis  O.,  Little  Giffen,  331. 

Timrod,  Henry,  Hark  to  Wind,  34. 

To  a  Butterfly,  Wordsworth,  327. 

To  an  Insect,  Holmes,  344. 

To  a  Redbreast,  Langhorne,  315. 


To-Day,   Carlyle,    245. 

Toll,  Then,  No  More,  Bowker,  59. 

Tolstoi,  Leo.  The  Blind  Man,  19. 

Tommy's   Opinion    of   Crows,    276. 

Tom's  Come  Home,  Trowbridge,  132. 

Tree.  The,  Very.  325. 

Trench,  Richard  C.,   Harmosan,   125. 

Trouble  in  Trees,  Keeler,  343. 

Trowbridge,  John  T.,  Lincoln,  92; 
Exts.,  Charcoal  Man,  103;  Tom's 
Come  Home,  132;  Sensualist,  146. 

True  Royalty,  Kipling,   100. 

Turner,    Elizabeth,    Bird's    Nest,    13. 

Twilight  at  Sea,   Welby,   144. 

Two  Bird   Neighbors,   Lowell,   296. 

Two  Buckets,  18. 

Two  Minutes,  Eggleston,  77. 

Under  a   Pine-Tree,   Bourdillon,   358. 

Upon   Valley's  Lap,   Bourdillon,    136. 

Urmy,  Things  That  Count.  75. 

Van  Dyke,  Henry,  Exts.,  Angler's 
Wish,  121;  Silent  Wing,  98. 

V-a-s-e,  The,   Roche,   185. 

Venable,   Wm.   H.,   Forest  Song.   29. 

Very,  Jones.  The  Tree,  325. 

Vesture  of  Soul,   A.   E.,   88. 

Violets,   Moultrie,  357. 

Vision  of  Belshazzar,  Byron,  255. 

Wagner,   Richard,   Lohengrin,   371. 

Waiting  for  the  Bugle,  Higginson,  96. 

Ward,  Lydia  C.,  Flag  Day,  130. 

Washington,  Geo.,  Letter,  343. 

Water  Lily,  Butts,  86;  Roche,  292; 
Tabb,  85. 

Waterman,  Nixon,  Butterfly's  Toilet, 
15;  World's  Victors,  35;  What 
Have  We  Done  To-Day?,  50. 

Wayside  Flowers,  Allingham,  371. 

Weatherby,  Gray  Dove's  Answer,  101. 

Welby,  Twilight  at  Sea,  144. 

Westwood,  Thomas,  Lost  Lamb,  300. 

Whang,    the   Miller,   Goldsmith,    193. 

What  Have  We  Done,  Waterman,  50. 

What  May  Said  to  December,  Am- 
bient, 330. 

What  Robin  Told,  Cooper,   359. 

Where  Fields  Lie  White,  Peck,  42. 

Whippoorwill  Song,  Cawein,  324. 

White  Clover,  Goodale,  10. 

Whitman,  Walt,  There  Was  a  Child, 
202. 

Whittier,  John  G.,  Ext.,  B.-  efoot 
Boy,  11;  School-Days,  81;  Bare- 
foot Boy,  197;  Corn  Song,  275; 
Gift  of  Tritemius,  314. 

Whoever  Fights,  Emerson,  296. 

Who  Loves  Trees  Best,  Douglas,  346. 

Wild-Flower,    Bourdillon,    147. 

Will,  The,  116. 

Wind  and  the  Moon,  Macdonald,  245. 

Windlass  Song,  Allingham,  26. 

Winter,  Shakespeare,  288. 

Woman's    Lighthouse,    Ingelow,    159. 

Wordsworth,  Wm.,  Written  in  March, 
73;  Clifford,  195;  Small  Celandine, 
216;  Butterfly,  327. 

World's  Music,  Setoun,  107. 

World's   Victors,    Waterman,   35. 

Yonge,  Russian's  Daughter,  173. 

Yussouf,  Lowell,  139. 


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